


Surrender And Certainty

by verhalen



Series: Homeward Bound [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, Worldweavers - Multiverse
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Bathing/Washing, Bathtub Sex, Bisexual Male Character, Bubble Bath, Cowgirl Position, Cunnilingus, Developing Friendships, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Food Kink, Food Sex, Implied/Referenced Eating Disorder (Past), Implied/Referenced Suicide Attempt (Past), Light Bondage, Maglor in the Modern-day, Marriage Proposal, Massage, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Painting, Past Child Abuse, Pegging, Penis In Vagina Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Recovery, Romance, Schmoop, Scotland, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in a Car, Soren being Soren, Table Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-04-07 04:25:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19077451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: Sören and Claire get a house in St Andrews, and begin their new life together. Their paths cross with a certain wandering Elf.





	1. Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Narya (Narya_Flame)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narya_Flame/gifts).



**Welcome Home**

 

 **2009**  
_St Andrews, Scotland_  
  
Claire looked up from her book as she heard the keys in the front door. She heard the familiar sound of Icelandic swearing - " _Ríða, skít, andskotinn_ " - and some fumbling around with bags rustling; she couldn't restrain her grin as she watched Sören walk in with the keyring in his teeth, two shopping bags in either hand. Even though he'd been gone less than two hours, she wanted to leap up, rush to him, and throw her arms around him, and silently cursed that her body wasn't  _quite_  ready for that. Not yet.  
  
Other things, though, she was ready for, and able to do now. Slowly but surely, she had been making more progress.  
  
It was to be their first night in their new home. They'd bought the fixer-upper on the Harbour of St Andrews with some of their "rainy day fund" three weeks into their stay in Scotland, not wanting to burden Sören's aunt Gitta and her wife Jane even though they swore up and down that hosting the couple was no trouble. They'd had to buy furniture, which the movers had delivered in stages, and not all of it was here yet - the king-sized four-poster bed was upstairs, and the sturdy oak kitchen table and chairs were set up, but they were still debating couches and other items for the lounge. In the meantime, Claire was propped up on a pile of pillows. They'd spent the day unpacking, though they'd only made a dent in all that needed to be unpacked, boxes everywhere across the house; Sören had insisted Claire take a break while he ran to the supermarket to pick up something for dinner. He'd wanted to get takeaway or take her out to dinner and give her a break altogether, but she in turn had insisted that she wanted to break in their new home properly with a home-cooked meal.  
  
She wanted to break it in properly in other ways; as she'd been reading, her thoughts kept straying to the new bed. Part of their motivation for moving out of Gitta's sooner rather than later had been wanting to freely make noise again.  
  
Sören was wearing jean shorts and his frequently-worn Joy Division T-shirt, dark curls tied up in a loose man bun to cope with the August heat, revealing the two small silver rings in each ear. The black glittery nail polish he wore sparkled as he pulled up the dark sunglasses and Claire smiled at the love shining in his dark eyes. Even dressed down, he was delicious to her, especially for being a little sweaty. She thought about him glistening under the shirt and a shiver went down her spine.  
  
He kicked off his black Doc Martens boots, leaving them by the door to not trudge dirt through the house. Claire stood up gingerly. "You want help with those bags -?"  
  
"I got it," Sören said, walking ahead to the kitchen.  
  
Claire followed behind him, smoothing her ocean-hued broomstick skirt, and watched him unload the groceries on the counter. He'd gotten salmon, knowing how much she loved it - of course he liked it too, growing up in Iceland - and the makings for a salad. He'd picked up some essentials like bread, milk, and eggs, orange juice, sausages for tomorrow morning, a package of cheese, and for snacks, baby carrots and a bag of salt-and-vinegar crisps. She smiled as he took out fresh strawberries and a can of whipped cream, and took the can to put in the fridge.  
  
"I can make the salad if you work on the salmon," Claire told him.  
  
"Jæja, are you sure?" Sören raised an eyebrow.  
  
She gave him a playful whack on the elbow. "Sören, I need to start doing things again. Please."  
  
"OK." Sören leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. "I just worry about you, is all. I want to take care of you."  
  
"I know, and you do. But some of taking care of me means letting me push myself sometimes too." She planted a soft kiss on his full lips, and then a second later almost regretted it because a chaste, innocent kiss became anything but, with their tongues meeting, swirling together, his fingers walking down her spine. Her breath hitched and she shuddered against him, melting to him. She had already gotten herself worked up thinking about him while he was out, and now...  
  
Sören started kissing her neck. She moaned, and seized his face to claim his mouth again. They pulled apart a moment later, breathing hard.  
  
"I'm proud of you, you know." Sören twined a stray lock of her strawberry blonde hair around his finger. "You're a fighter, and it's one of the things I love about you."  
  
"I love you too. Now we better get to work and no more hanky-panky, you."  
  
Sören waggled his eyebrows at her, making her laugh out loud. He turned on the tap and she watched as he splashed cold water on his face, rubbed it into his beard - despite his intolerance of summer heat, he wouldn't shave his facial hair, but she liked him better with it anyway, remembering him as a clean-shaven, short-haired nineteen-year-old med student and when she'd seen him again two years later, hair and beard grown out, looking dangerous and sexy. He looked like a rock star without being one, right down to the ink and piercings. She watched him splash water onto his arms now, both covered in sleeve tattoos, flames on one, ocean waves on the other. After taking down his hair, shaking his curls loose and sprinkling water into that, he was good to start washing his hands and set to work on the salmon fillet.  
  
Claire turned on the stereo so they could have music as they worked in the kitchen. They were both born in 1984, and their parents had raised them with music from the 1960s and 70s and early 80s - one of Claire's favorite stories from Sören's past was one of the few happy memories he had of childhood, his late mother Brynhildur Jónsdóttir singing "Stairway to Heaven" as a lullaby. So it was a classic rock station they listened to now, with Sören singing along in his husky, soulful tenor and lovely, lilting accent to Kenny Loggins.  
  
_The waiting is over, no, don't you run  
No way to hide  
No time for wonderin' why  
It's here, the moment is now, about to decide  
Let 'em believe  
Leave 'em behind  
But keep me near in your heart  
Know whatever you do  
I'm here by your side  
  
(You say that maybe it's over)  
(Not if you don't want it to be)  
For once in your life  
Here's your miracle  
Stand up and fight  
  
(This is it)  
Make no mistake where you are  
(This is it)  
You're goin' no further  
(This is it)  
Until it's over and done_  
  
Claire had bought a spice rack when they went furniture shopping earlier in the week, stocking up on a professional-quality selection of herbs and spices. Sören was properly impressed - he liked to make jokes about how Icelanders considered food "heavily spiced" if there was dill in sour cream, and that "fermentation is not a spice". He liked seasonings, and he  _especially_  liked heat in his food, the degree of heat surprising and amusing to her considering where he came from and his dislike of hot weather. He was adding some kick to the salmon now, though she knew he was restraining it for her sake - there was pleasantly piquant and then there was her jokes about Sören being part-dragon. He knew where her tolerance was, well below his, and it was one of the many ways he showed he cared for her, making the spice more to her taste.   
  
All of the little things, added up so much.  
  
As he prepped the salmon, Claire washed and chopped lettuce, cucumber, tomatoes. There were olives and goat cheese to add to the salad, and a vinaigrette dressing. Claire turned up the music when "Leather and Lace" by Stevie Nicks and Don Henley came on. She sang Stevie Nicks's part in her contralto, with Sören singing Don Henley's part, and the two sang together on the chorus:  
  
_Lovers forever  
Face to face  
My city your mountains  
Stay with me stay  
I need you to love me  
I need you today  
Give to me your leather  
Take from me  
My lace_  
  
Sören stole another kiss at the end of the song, and Claire was starting to ache now, nipples hard, feeling slick heat in her knickers, tempted to tell him to hell with dinner and drag him upstairs. But instead she watched with admiration in her eyes as he bent over, his firm bubble butt sticking out at her as he put the fish on the broiler. It wouldn't be long now.  
  
Claire leaned against him while the fish cooked, tossing the salad, throwing in the olives and cheese at the end, drizzling the vinaigrette. She didn't need the support for standing, but the feel of him against her was comforting.  
  
And arousing. She glanced at him, and he crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. It took her every ounce of her restraint to not slam him against the wall, pin his wrists and kiss him deep, wondering what it would be like for him to take her on the kitchen counter.  
  
_Not very sanitary for food prep, probably._  But it was a nice thought. Sören got dishes down from the cupboard, and then he strode out of the kitchen for a moment. She wondered what he was doing - probably getting some air, since the kitchen was getting hotter with the broiler going - and when the timer rang, he came back.  
  
Sören took out the fillet of fish from the broiler and cut it up, loading it onto plates, with some remaining on the tray for seconds or leftovers. He brought the plates and utensils out to the table, Claire following behind with the large salad bowl in one hand, and two smaller serving bowls in the other.  
  
When she approached the kitchen table, her breath caught. Sören had been lighting candles out here. He'd also managed to sneak a bottle of Auchentoshan in with his groceries, which she smiled at the sight of.  
  
"I'll get the shot glasses," Sören said, putting a hand on her shoulder as he walked past.  
  
The sun was starting to set, and the view of the light from the Harbour made it all especially romantic. Sören came back with shot glasses, regular glasses, and a pitcher of ice water. He sat down across from Claire and as if on cue, "Your Song" by Elton John came on the radio.  
  
_It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside  
I'm not one of those who can easily hide  
I don't have much money, but boy if I did  
I'd buy a big house where we both could live_  
  
"Well, we did that," Sören said, laughing softly. He poured the Auchentoshan, and passed Claire her glass, holding his out. They clinked glasses, and Sören sipped his whisky thoughtfully, swirling it around.  
  
"This is lovely," Claire said, gesturing to the lit candles. "You're lovely."  
  
" _You're_  lovely." Sören's eyes crinkled at the corners. "I wanted to spoil you a little."  
  
"You spoil me all the time." Claire tried a bite of her salmon. "Oh  _god_ , this is good."  
  
Sören smiled.  
  
"How was the walk?" Claire asked between bites.  
  
"Hot."  
  
Claire laughed and kicked him under the table. "I know that, silly. I mean... how was it. You're finding your way around now?"  
  
Sören nodded. "I took a little detour on the way there, looked at the sea for awhile. There was some guy with a guitar sitting there, playing." He bit his lower lip, his cheeks flushing.  
  
"Yeah, was he cute?"  
  
" _Fuck_ , he was hot." Sören's blush deepened.  
  
Claire loved that she had someone who she could ogle attractive men with. Before their relationship began Claire assumed Sören was exclusively gay, which wasn't entirely untrue - Claire was the first and only woman he'd been attracted to and intimate with. These days, he would call himself bisexual, and they had a deal when their relationship started that Sören could date men if she met them and approved, but over the last three years Sören hadn't been with anyone but her. There had been a flirtation before the accident, but the man didn't want to deal with Sören's emotional state or his constant vigilance of Claire through the whole ordeal; Claire still felt a little guilty about it, even though Sören assured her up and down it was fine. He hadn't expressed interest in or attraction to anyone but her since the accident, though; finally mentioning he'd seen an attractive man was a sign things were getting back to normal.  
  
"Long dark hair," Sören went on. "Tall, too, from the looks of him, though he was sitting down."  
  
Before their relationship started, Claire's sexual fantasies about Sören often involved him with that very type, not that she ever mentioned it to him. She looked down at her food, not wanting to get her hopes up about getting to see her fantasy become a reality. "Did you talk to him?"  
  
"Ha ha no." Sören sipped on his whisky. "You know how I get with strangers. Even if I'd felt less shy, I felt like he was too pretty for me to talk to. And his music was sure pretty. Was worth spending a few extra minutes in the heat."  
  
"That's good, at least."  
  
A few more minutes passed, with them working on their meal, and Sören asked, "How's your book?"  
  
"Heavy." She was re-reading the  _Silmarillion_. "I feel like I find new things every time I go back."  
  
"Someday I should read that. I never read anything but the  _Lord of the Rings_  trilogy, of his."  
  
Claire nodded. "Well, consider it yours to borrow." They had been living together for four years now - the first several months as just roommates - but now they felt even more enmeshed.  
  
"Aw,  _takk._ "  
  
"It'll be nice to get the rest of my books unpacked. It's nice to be able to  _read_  again, even if I have to do it in shorter stints than I was used to." She used to be able to read for hours without a problem, now she was lucky to be able to read fifteen to twenty minutes at a time without needing a break. But even that, following her head injury, was progress.  
  
"It's nice to see you reading. I wanted to cry when I got in and saw you."  
  
Claire felt the urge to throw down her fork, come over and hug him tight, but she didn't. She helped herself to another bowl of salad as well, and then she refilled Sören's dish while she had the tongs in her hand. He thanked her. It wasn't just convenience or kindness, though, she looked at her steady hand, feeling accomplished.  
  
_Bit by bit._  There was something else she wanted to try tonight, too.  
  
Sören dug into more salad. "I think I'll want to unpack my art supplies tonight or tomorrow, get the studio set up." Their house had three bedrooms, though they only needed one, and one of the spares was being turned into Sören's art room.  
  
"Oh, brilliant. I can't wait to see you get back into painting."  
  
"I'm feeling inspired again." He hadn't been painting much in the months following the accident. His voice husked then as he said, "You inspire me. I'd like to paint you, now that your hair is back to its natural color again."  
  
"Oh, Sören." Claire felt her face flush.  
  
"It's not that you weren't pretty with the platinum blonde hair but  _god_ , I love your natural color. I never understood why you felt the need to dye it in the first place."  
  
"Because of all the shit I got for being a ginger, I thought it would look more professional for a law career."  
  
Sören snorted. "I've wanted to be supportive, but Claire, I am so glad you're done with that. I could see the way it was eating at you and it  _hurt._ "  
  
"I know. And I really appreciate that you tried to look after me when I was so stressed out, without trying to control me and tell me to get out of it." Claire frowned. "As much as I hate having been through all... that..." She meant the accident. "I have to admit, it's almost a blessing in disguise, to be on a different track for my life now. I just wish I knew  _what._ " She sighed.  
  
"You'll figure it out. It's not like we need money in the meantime."  
  
"No, but it's not really about the money. It's about a sense of purpose."  
  
"I suppose. But it's OK to just chill and enjoy yourself for awhile too, y'know? I want to see you happy."  
  
"You make me happy, Sören." She meant it.  
  
They finished dinner. Claire started to get up, and Sören put a hand up. "I'll take care of dishes and wrap up the leftover fish," he said. "You want dessert?"  
  
_I want you for dessert._  "Sure."  
  
He brought out strawberries and whipped cream, and moved the candles out to the lounge, where they sat on the pile of pillows together, the candles glowing golden against the blue light of twilight, feeding each other strawberries, licking and sucking the juices and cream off each other's fingers. When Claire bit into a particularly juicy one and the juice trailed down her chin and neck, Sören licked it, and she moaned, then moaned again as he kissed her, stroking her face, her hair. His fingers wandered down to rest on her breast, thumbing the hard nipple through the gauzy fabric of her cream poet's blouse.  
  
Claire put the last strawberry in his mouth and she bit off the tip, and then after it was gone they kissed again, before Sören sprayed a little whipped cream onto his fingers and stuck them in Claire's mouth, groaning appreciatively as he watched her lips wrap around them and she worked her head back and forth, fingers gliding in and out of her mouth like it was a smaller version of his cock. Claire smiled at the tent forming in his jean shorts.  
  
Then her smile became a gasp as Sören sprayed whipped cream in the cleft between her breasts, licking it off, continuing to lick there even after the cream was gone, before moving his face up to rub his tongue against hers, and he kissed her again, deeply. He started kissing her neck, his voice raspy with desire. " _Ég vil sleikja þig um allt._ "  
  
Claire's breath hitched. He knew exactly how to get her going, making her twinge and ache again, wanting him. "Oh god, Sören."  
  
He kissed her mouth again, tongue more insistent this time, before trailing kisses along her jaw, resuming kissing her neck, licking, nibbling. " _Ég vil að safarnir þínar dreypi. Ég mun borða þig þar til þú biður mig um að hætta._ " Fingers rubbing a nipple through her shirt in lazy circles, kissing back up her neck, kissing around her mouth. " _þú ert að fara að koma aftur og aftur._ "  
  
"God..." Claire shivered.  
  
" _Mér líkar grillaðan ost._ "  
  
Claire narrowed her eyes and glared at him, though she wasn't actually angry, and she was used to it by now. She gave him a playful smack on his arm. "You're such an idiot."  
  
Sören's laughter rang out. "I couldn't help it,  _elskan._  I love it when you make that face at me." He kissed the tip of her nose, then he kissed her mouth again. "Not as much as I love making you come, though."  
  
"So... are we going to break in the new bed?"  
  
"Mmmmm." Sören got up. "Whipped cream in the fridge first... then, yes."  
  
After he put away the whipped cream, he carried the candles upstairs, then he came down to help her up the steps if she needed it, walking behind her. "Easy does it," he said softly. The sound of his voice, low and sexy like that, and the feeling of his warm breath on the back of her neck, how  _safe_  she felt with him - it was all making her quiver, but she managed to make it up the stairs, and when they stood at the top, Sören took her in his arms and kissed her.  
  
She started shoving him back towards the bedroom, kissing him back hard and hungry, hands already fumbling with his belt.  
  
"Well," Sören said, laughing, "someone's horny -"  
  
Claire slammed him against the wall of their bedroom, yanking down his shorts, and then his boxer-briefs, wrapping her hand around the now-free cock, standing at attention for her. Her fingers walked down it, then slid back up, gently rubbing the frenulum; she smiled as he shivered. She drew his lower lip between hers -  _god_ , she loved his lips - and sucked on it a little before she whispered, "I want to ride you."  
  
Cowgirl was Sören's favorite position, and one they hadn't done since the accident - she'd lay on her back and he'd taken care of her. Which was still nice, but tonight... "I want to ride you like a wild bull," she said, yanking up his T-shirt.  
  
Then she slipped out of her own clothes, Sören running his hands over her, finally lingering to cup her breasts, thumbs rubbing the nipples. His breath caught at the sight of her; she loved that sound.   
  
He tenderly took her face in his hands, and kissed her back. He let out a little whimper as her fingers continued rubbing the sweet spot on his cock, and she hooked a finger through the Prince Albert ring in the head. "I want you to fuck me hard," she said.  
  
Sören shuddered. "Jesus, Claire. Are you sure...?"  
  
" _Yes._  I want this. I  _need_  this." She kissed his neck. "I need  _you._ "  
  
With her free hand, she guided his hand between her legs, letting him feel how drenched she was, and they hadn't even started. Sören's eyes widened, and he kissed her again, breathing harder. "Claire."  
  
"I'm so wet for you."  
  
Sören gave her a naughty grin. "Hi so wet for you -"  
  
Claire swatted his ass hard, and Sören laughed, and turned around, wiggling his ass at her so she could smack the other cheek. She did, and then she dragged him over to the bed. "You," she said, shoving him down on the bed, climbing over him. "Brat."  
  
"Mmmmm." Sören leaned up to kiss her. "You love it."  
  
"Arse." Claire tweaked his nose.  
  
"You love that, too."  
  
"You know..."  
  
"I know." Sören nibbled on her.  
  
"Your smart mouth is going to get that arse in trouble."  
  
"I like being in trouble." Sören grinned.  
  
"We should find something else for you to do with that mouth."  
  
"I agree one hundred percent." With that, Sören's tongue slowly licked one of Claire's nipples. She gasped, shivering.  
  
He spent the next while feasting on her nipples, licking, suckling, nibbling, fingers rubbing one while his mouth worked on the other. Every now and again he pulled her face down to kiss him, positioning himself so her nipples rubbed against his pierced nipples, making him groan into the kiss. After so many times of this she couldn't take it anymore and returned the favor, licking and sucking hard at one of his nipples as her fingers massaged the other, sometimes tugging gently at the ring. She found his nipple piercings incredibly sexy, not the least of which the way he responded when they were played with.  
  
As she made love to his nipples, she rubbed against his thigh, and Sören finally moaned, "You are so  _fucking_  wet,  _elskan mín._ "  
  
"I told you." She tugged a nipple with her teeth. "You make me fucking crazy."  
  
"You make  _me_  crazy." Sören pulled her up to kiss him. Then he patted his shoulders. "You want to ride me, this is where you start."  
  
Claire crawled up to sit on Sören's shoulders, already close to coming, feeling herself twitch just from his breath on her skin. He nuzzled her bush, breathing in the scent of her. "So sexy," he husked. He rained little kisses over her mound. "Kissed by fire."  
  
"God, Sören..." She fisted his curls and whined.  
  
He laughed gently into her, before taking his first lick. He lapped slowly, lovingly, then in earnest his fingers spread her folds and he dug in, loudly slurping and sipping at her juices as his tongue lashed her clit, and then he sucked on it, moaning "mmmm" as he sucked. The fingers of one hand played inside her, rubbing her G-spot, and she knew he was stroking himself with the other hand, which was such a turn-on, to know he wanted this as badly as she did. She was right on that edge, so close, so close, "oh god Sören  _just like that_ ," and then before she could come, his lips let go and he began to lick very, very slowly, around her clit but not quite brushing it.  
  
He loved teasing her like this, and she howled with frustration, even though she knew the more he teased, the harder she'd come when he gave in. And that was what he did, over and over again, slowly licking then licking harder and faster, sucking her clit until she was  _right there_ , backing off. The sound of her wetness as his fingers worked in her was deliciously obscene, and she was starting to thrust against his face, not able to help it. "Mmm, fuck my face," Sören purred before he dove back in, sucking her hard.  
  
A few bucks and she screamed, contracting so hard it almost hurt, sobbing with relief as the delicious waves of pleasure throbbed and throbbed through her. Sören groaned as he watched her contractions, taking a few last slow licks at the juices gushing. "God, Claire."  
  
"Mmmf." She shuddered, biting her lip.  
  
But it didn't stop there. A minute later his tongue was on her clit again, knowing he could give her multiple orgasms when she was sensitive like this, as he'd done so many times before. He brought her to climax again and again, feverishly lapping and suckling, finally just shoving his tongue inside her and rubbing her clit with his fingers, and it was when she came like that, that she felt Sören jolt underneath her, could tell from his groaning and shivering that he'd brought himself off. She felt that surge of desire again, finding it incredibly hot that he loved doing this to her so much that it would make him come, too... knowing that he gave himself a release so he'd last longer when he was inside her.  
  
She climbed off his shoulders and lay there on top of him for a few minutes, petting and nuzzling him as he came down. Then he kissed her, letting her taste herself on him. She moaned into the kiss, loving it. He brought his cum-soaked fingers to her mouth and watched with heat in his eyes as she sensually licked and sucked it off them, savoring the salty-sweet taste of him. She made a mental note that someday soon she'd like to suck him and taste more of it, but there would be time enough for that another night. She could feel him hardening again as he watched her licking and sucking his fingers, at last sucking on his thumb.  
  
" _Ástin mín_." Sören's free hand stroked her face, played with her hair. "You want...?"  
  
"I want." She rose up, and straddled his hips.  
  
She was wet enough that he slid right in, groaning as he watched her wrap around him, taking him to the hilt. He rested in her for a moment, letting her get used to the fullness, and then she started to ride. Steady, not too hard, not too fast. Then a few minutes later, harder, grabbing onto him, her nails digging into his flesh.  
  
"That's it,  _elskan._ " Sören gave a little growl. "Get it."  
  
"Oh god, Sören..." She gasped as the captive bead ring in the head of his cock brushed her G-spot just the right way. And gasped again as his fingers strayed to rub her clit, the fingers of his other hand playing with her nipples.  
  
"God, I love watching your tits as you ride me." He leaned up and latched onto a nipple with his mouth, making her throw her head back and cry out.  
  
"Oh, Sören,  _fuck!_ " She grabbed his head, pulled on the curls.  
  
Sören growled into her and started thrusting into her, after letting her set the pace. She matched his rhythm, bucking wildly on him, and his fingers pressed harder into her clit, rubbed faster.  
  
"Oh fuck that's good  _that's good_ , fuck, Sören,  _fuck me_..."  
  
"I want you." Sören growled and nibbled on a nipple, before turning to the other one to lick and suckle. "Want you so. Fucking. Bad."  
  
"Yes, yes... I want you,  _go-o-od_ , I want you..."  
  
"You're so beautiful, riding me like this." Sören looked at her with worship in his eyes. "Ride me, my flamehaired Valkyrie."  
  
She was so close. Their moans and cries echoed in the room, competing with the smack of their flesh, the deliciously lewd wet suctioning sound of him rocking away inside her. She kept riding, feeling victorious, that she was finally able to do this with him, that she was taking it back, her health, her life. It felt like each thrust inside her was opening something in her, opening a door to the future, and the light was shining in. His fire. The glow of the candles was almost unearthly, as she reached down to take his face in her hands, reflecting the same awe back at him as the way he was looking at her. "I love you."  
  
"I love you,  _elskan. Falleg elskan mín, ég elska þig svo mikið._ "  
  
The reverting to Icelandic just made it even hotter for her. She was right there, right there... "Don't stop don't stop don't you  _fucking_  stop..." As much as he loved to tease, as much as she loved this delicious moment of the blinding, fevered glory of sex, she needed to  _come_. She needed him to come with her. She took his hands in hers, squeezing. "Sören, please, don't stop, don't stop..."  
  
He squeezed her hands back. "Come with me,  _hjartað mitt._ "  
  
" _Sören!_ " There it was. It took her breath away, pulse after pulse, resounding joy, euphoria through her entire body. Her inner muscles milked him through his own orgasm, howling as he spent into her, and she shuddered again at the feeling of him spilling into her, loving that feeling of being claimed.  _I am my beloved's and he is mine._  
  
She pulled him close to her, rocked him, and he wrapped his arms around her, rocking her too. They rocked and sobbed together, toes curling. "You did it," Sören said, holding her tight, kissing her shoulder.  
  
"I did." Claire smiled through her tears. "I've been wanting to do that again for months -"  
  
"I know. I mean, you know, it's good other ways. It's good any way, with you. But  _fuck_ , that was hot."  
  
Claire did like it on her back, slow and sweet, sensual and languid - they'd spent many afternoons and evenings like that. But she had been  _hungering_  for this, for that raw, primal passion that made her feel like she was having a religious experience, a microcosm of the Big Bang itself as she exploded again and again with his love. She rested her head on his shoulder. "I love you, Sören."  
  
"I love you." He kissed the top of her head, nuzzled her hair. "God, you're beautiful."  
  
They lay there for awhile, holding each other. The candles burned down, and they were there in the glow of the nightlight and the moonlight. The sound of the sea was soothing, and Claire felt herself drift off a little.  
  
Then Sören stirred her awake. "Gotta pee," he said.  
  
She giggled like an overgrown child at that. She rolled over and he climbed off the bed, shuffling off to the bathroom. When he came back, she was stretching - she too had to take care of business - and he paused for a moment, concern in his eyes.  
  
"Uh, Claire?" He raised an eyebrow. "You, ah, remembered to take the Pill today, right?"  
  
She nodded. They'd dispensed with using condoms early on in their relationship, since it had been awhile for either of them and they tested clean. She was as habitual as taking her daily birth control as Sören was about taking his antidepressant medication, though she could understand the brief concern since the last few days had been so busy with the move. But the question still made her slightly uneasy, and she realized after a moment that it wasn't because Sören had asked, it was because the thought of  _what if she hadn't_ , seeing herself with a little tiny version of Sören or herself, made her ache just a little.  
  
Them getting a house together,  _their_  house, not just a flat where they happened to both be on the lease, but something they  _owned_ , that was a huge step. And she wanted more. She wanted  _this_. This entire life. Sören would be a great stay-at-home dad if she wanted to go back to school, for example.  _He already has the dad jokes down to a science._  
  
But how to say that without scaring him away?  
  
He opened his arms when she came back from the bathroom, and she crawled in to rest in them.  _One step at a time, we can figure that out later._  For now, she contented herself with this moment, this night of  _hope_  after her world had shattered months ago. She was coming back to life, and things finally felt like they were going to be OK.


	2. Vision of Love

**Vision of Love**

 

After Sören had been awake for a few hours and  _felt_  awake - his cognitive tempo being such that it usually his body being awake for awhile in order for his mind to wake up - he decided to start unpacking his art supplies in the bedroom that he and Claire had decided could be his studio. Earlier that morning, Claire had apparently come in and set up a nest against one of the walls, mattress pads stacked together and covered neatly with blankets and a pile of pillows - she knew his habits, and to give him a place to stretch out when he needed to take a break, or where she could come in and keep him company. Or, to take another option, where they could make love, as Sören frequently felt randy after painting for hours, and now that she seemed more recovered after the accident and he was less afraid of giving her the full strength of his passion...  
  
Sören shuddered, thinking of last night, and the way she'd ridden him. His cock stirred.  _Down, boy._  
  
But thinking of Claire, here in the studio, looking at his paints and canvas... he thought of what he'd told her last night.  _I'd like to paint you, now that your hair is back to its natural color again._  
  
She was puttering around in the kitchen downstairs, he could hear her, and he still didn't have all his stuff unpacked. He got back to work, he had several Sterilite bins to open and go through, and then he had to organize. The organization was the worst part, even with the cart and trays that Claire had helped him pick out.  
  
Spending a bit of time sorting his different types of supplies - oil and chalk pastels, Prismacolor markers, regular colored pencils and watercolor pencils, watercolor paints, acrylic paints, and oil paints - and then sorting Prismacolor markers by color, acrylic and oil paints by color and type, paintbrushes by size, and stacking canvases by size and different kinds of paper by type and size, was tedious enough work that Sören finally needed a break. He wanted to go downstairs and see what Claire was up to, but the noises in the kitchen were louder now and he heard her singing along with the radio. She was a morning person, and in a particularly chipper mood this morning, moreso than usual,  _I should hope so after the way we went at it last night._  He debated whether or not he wanted to risk getting in her way, with whatever she was up to down there, and then his eyes looked at the calendar that Claire had hung by the door. Her birthday was in less than a week, and they'd been so busy with the move that he hadn't gotten her a present yet. He could paint her something, he knew, and she'd appreciate it, but he wanted to do something else.  
  
The problem was, what. She was an avid reader, but had a lot of books already, and a tendency to re-read old favorites, and he couldn't guarantee that she'd like something if he followed a recommendation, nor was there enough time to read it himself and see if it was the sort of thing she'd enjoy. Plus, just getting her a book or a set of books didn't seem like enough. Clothes was another option, but she had been so very hung up on image when she was a barrister in London, despite his best efforts to convince her she was beautiful the way she was, and even with buying her the sorts of things she was wearing now, or a gift card to where she could get those things, he didn't want to send a message that could be taken the wrong way. Household things... she knew more about that stuff than he did.  
  
_Dammit._  
  
He rubbed his face, and sat on the edge of the mattress pad nest with his chin on his folded hands, thinking hard. When they'd lived in London, their flat had not allowed pets of any kind, though it didn't stop the occasional resident from sneaking in a cat or a small dog, but they hadn't wanted to risk it, since there was already some judgment at the "posh" barrister and her artist "boytoy". Sören badly wanted a cat, and he knew Claire would want one too, and a dog would be nice, but...  
  
...For some reason, he thought about a conversation they'd had in 2003, back in Iceland, when Sören took Claire on a weekend trip to his hometown of Akureyri and they lay in a field together watching the clouds.  
  
_"Did you ever have any imaginary friends when you were little?" Sören asked her.  
  
Claire looked off to the side, sheepish, and then she nodded. "You?"  
  
"Jæja, I had one of the huldufólk."  
  
Claire gave him a confused look.  
  
"Right, um... elves? In English. My mother claimed she saw one when she was a little girl, and I had one as a friend when I was a small boy. She looked like she could be my sister, her name sounded kind of like Moria or something but that wasn't quite right. I eventually outgrew it and stopped seeing her though I continued to dream about her for awhile." Sören chuckled. "I feel so stupid."  
  
"That's not stupid at all." Claire took his hand, and squeezed; Sören felt that funny little flutter in his stomach again, and there it was once more when she tilted her head to smile at him. "Mine's stupid."  
  
"I highly doubt that it would be stupid, and you were just a kid, besides."  
  
"No, it was really dumb." Claire looked back up at the sky again, grinning. "It was a giant tortoise named Copernicus. I was five."  
  
"C-C..." Sören shook with silent laughter, and finally he let out a howl.  
  
"I told you it was dumb, Sören."  
  
"No. That's fucking_ brilliant.  _You were five? How did you even pronounce...?"  
  
Claire shrugged.  
  
"So did he have a friend? Galileo? Tesla?"  
  
"Ha ha ha." Claire elbowed him. "No, it was just the tortoise. Copernicus. I kind of miss him."  
  
"I wish you could meet my brother, the scientist, and tell him this. He'd fucking love it."  
  
"Maybe someday."  
  
"Maybe someday." Sören felt the wild urge to tell her,_ Stay.  _But of course he didn't, couldn't. He gave a small, wistful sigh, and when he looked back at the clouds, one looked like the shape of a heart. He felt that warm, fuzzy feeling again,_  adoring  _the quirkiness of her, and as he watched the heart float in the sky, as if he'd conjured it somehow, he realized, his heart racing,_  I am in love with Claire James. _  
  
He swallowed hard._  
  
It had taken him another two and a half years to do anything about it, in part because of his own insecurities, in part because the next two years were a special kind of hell for both of them, prompting his move to London from Reykjavik. But he could pinpoint the moment when he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt he'd fallen for her, the first girl he'd been attracted to, to this day the only woman he'd been with... and it was when she told him about that imaginary tortoise. She was his kind of weird.  
  
_How hard would it be to get her a pet tortoise up here?_  
  
There was only one way to find out. He went to their bedroom, and took out his laptop. He brought it back to the studio, sitting down, and started a Google search for exotic pets in Fife, and a Craigslist search in another tab. Eventually, he found someone who bred Indian Star tortoises over in Dundee, which wasn't a bad drive. Just before Sören could take out his cell phone and call, he heard Claire coming up the stairs. He could smell cookies.  
  
"Sören, take a break," Claire said, coming in the studio. "I made you chocolate chip biscuits."  
  
Sören smiled - he would always find the British way of calling cookies "biscuits" to be amusing, as his education of English had taught him to use the American word, though he'd learned other British English words - the way Icelanders spoke English tended to confuse both Brits and Americans alike. " _Takk._  They smell wonderful, and that was so thoughtful of you."  
  
"Well, it wasn't completely selfless. I'm having some too  _and don't you start_." She wagged her finger, anticipating the "I'm" joke.  
  
Sören chuckled, and shoved his laptop over to the side, and made room on the nest for Claire to sit with him. She popped a warm, fresh-out-of-the-oven cookie into his mouth, the chocolate chips were all melty and he let out an "mmmmmmm", feeling a little self-conscious about it, but Claire's face lit up.  
  
"This is so good," he said through a mouthful of cookie.  
  
"I'm glad to hear it."  
  
"Hi glad to hear it -"  
  
"FOR FUCK'S SAKE, SÖREN."  
  
Sören laughed, and gave her a little kiss, though he still had cookie in his mouth. She rolled her eyes, but grinned, booped his nose, and stuck another cookie in his mouth when he'd finished. She nibbled on one herself.  
  
"It's good to see you eating cookies again," Sören said. "Er, biscuits. Whatever."  
  
"It's good to  _be_  eating biscuits again, and not care anymore."  
  
"You were always fine," Sören said. "More than fine. I tried to tell you that, but -"  
  
"I know." Claire sighed, and looked down. "The problem is it was you against that entire... soul-sucking culture. You were 'just a country boy from Akureyri'," She made air quotes to indicate sarcasm, the plate of cookies balanced on her lap. "your standards weren't theirs."  
  
"I still can't fucking believe that twat -"  
  
"Yeah, me either. A lot of twats," Claire said.  
  
"Well, fuck em," Sören said, and popped a cookie in her mouth. "You're too good for that shit. You're too  _beautiful_  for that shit." He stroked her face, wanting her to see the love in his eyes. "It's nice to see the girl I remember falling in love with, now. Not that you were ever unattractive in London, but it killed me to see you starv-"  
  
Claire nodded, and silenced him with a kiss.  
  
His thumb traced one of the scars from the accident, along her temple, and he brushed his lips across it. "You're still beautiful to me." She had cried when she'd seen the damage after the accident - she wasn't disfigured, but she had a few scars, a couple gashes, the one across her forehead and temple and the one along the side of her neck could be covered up by her hair, the scars on her torso could be covered by clothing. She'd eventually stopped feeling so self-conscious about it, as the scars healed and grew thinner and more faint - they were still healing, and would continue to fade - and not only had Sören not lost interest in her, even when it was more obvious, but he'd helped her to see it as a mark of her own survival, just like the scars he bore on his back from abuse, on his arms from the suicide attempt.  
  
"Have I told you lately that I love you?" Claire asked, her voice husky with emotion.  
  
"I never get tired of hearing it." He took her hand and kissed it. "And you show me a thousand different ways. Like this." He took another cookie from the plate. "You're so sweet."  
  
"I wanted to say thank you for last night." Claire grinned.  
  
Sören's laughter rang out. " _Elskan_ , I should be thanking  _you._ " He crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, shivering a little at the memory, heat rising in him. " _Fuck_ , last night was amazing."  
  
"It really was."  
  
"So hot." Sören's hands ran over her curves, not able to help himself, and her hands covered his, guiding them. " _You_  were so hot."  
  
"Mmmmm." She kissed him, and then she gave him a playful swat, though her eyes were twinkling and she couldn't stop grinning. "You have a one-track mind." She glanced over at the laptop. "Were you in here reading slash?" she teased.  
  
"No," Sören said, but he slammed the laptop closed anyway, not wanting her to see what he  _was_  looking at and ruin the surprise.  
  
"I've known you too long to buy that innocent face, Sören."  
  
"I wasn't reading slash," Sören said, and added, "yet."  
  
Now Claire's laughter rang out, as she shook with it. "Goddammit, Sören."  
  
Then she looked around the studio, eyes lingering on the cart. "You've made a lot of progress," she said. "Good."  
  
"It was necessary, since I want to get painting again as soon as possible." Sören put his hands on Claire's shoulders. "I told you last night I want to paint you. I'd like to start painting you."  
  
"N-now?"  
  
"Do you have anything else planned for the day?"  
  
"Well, I need to clean up downstairs from the baking, and later think about making dinner, but..."  
  
"There's time between those two activities, isn't there? I just need you to pose for me for a few hours."  
  
Claire gave him a stern face. "You're not going to make me wear a silly hat on my head or anything, are you?"  
  
"Not this time."  
  
Claire gave him another playful swat as Sören laughed, doubling over at the mental image of doing a painting with Claire wearing a silly hat, or perhaps a pile of silly hats. That wasn't what he'd had in mind, but the opportunity to troll her and have it preserved eternally was a delicious thought.  
  
Not as delicious as what he had planned, though. "You want me to clean up the kitchen, since you were so kind to...?"  
  
Claire shook her head, shoving the last cookie in Sören's mouth as she got up. "I need to start doing things again, Sören. Seriously."  
  
"I know. Just trying to be considerate -"  
  
"And you are. But please. Let me take care of this. Besides, you can get back to whatever funny business you were in here doing." She gave him a suspicious look, though there was amusement in her eyes.  
  
"OK. And then get your arse up here, so I can start painting you."  
  
When Claire went back downstairs, and he heard the sink running and knew it was safe, he opened his laptop back up and dialed the number of the Indian Star tortoise breeder. After asking questions, including about the proper care and feeding - the breeder convinced him to buy a pair of tortoises, so Copernicus could have a companion mate - Sören made an appointment to go out to Dundee in four days, the morning of Claire's birthday, and pick them up; he'd also be getting supplies.  
  
He was done with the phone call while Claire was still downstairs, and he started setting up, selecting a canvas to put on the easel, and the colors of paint he'd be using. He remembered then that he had his digital camera in his satchel and it needed to be charged, since he'd want to get pictures of the tortoises, and Claire's reaction. He set up his tripod while was thinking of it, just to have it handy in the event it was needed.  
  
Claire stepped back into the studio and gave a twirl of her skirt. "So, should I change my outfit?" She put her hands on her hips. "Do you have a silly hat ready?"  
  
"Actually..." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. "I wanted to paint you, um, nude."  
  
Claire stopped twirling, and then she stood there, just looking at Sören for a minute, and then she just raised an eyebrow.  
  
Sören stammered, "Well, I mean, you don't  _have_  to, I don't want you to feel objectified -"  
  
"No, I don't." Claire's face was flushed now. "I..." She swallowed hard. "You think I'd look OK...?"  
  
"I think you're a lot better than OK. You belong in a fucking Renaissance painting. But I mean it, Claire, I don't want you to feel pressured if you're not comfortable with -"  
  
Claire's broomstick skirt fell on the floor, revealing her knickers and socks, and then she pulled off her gauzy blouse, and Sören watched appreciatively as she unhooked her bra from the front, letting it drop to the floor. She peeled off her knickers, and then she got on the nest to remove her socks. "Let's do this," she said.  
  
Sören was already almost regretting it, hardening at the sight of her; this was going to be a long four or five hours.  _Margaret Thatcher,_  he told himself, trying desperately to think of something unsexy so he wouldn't blue-balls himself. But he had to keep looking at Claire in order to paint her, and she decidedly was not Margaret Thatcher.  
  
"How do you want me to pose?" she asked.  
  
"Whatever's comfortable for you, though you stretched out would be my preference."  
  
"All right then." Claire grinned, and lay on her side, propping herself up on one elbow. "Draw me like one of your French girls," she quipped. "Or, you know, French guys."  
  
Sören laughed, almost dropping the bottle of paintbrush cleaner as he brought it over. "I do love me some French men," he said, licking his lips appreciatively. What he wouldn't give to meet a dashing, older French silver fox, preferably one with a beard and some chest hair, a real "daddy" type...  
  
As if she could read his mind, Claire teased, "We need to find you a boyfriend."  
  
"Jæja, maybe." Even though their relationship had been open in theory, when it started, Sören hadn't gone chasing men - there was that one guy that he  _almost_  got together with, before the accident, but it hadn't worked out. Sören hadn't even been thinking about any of that for months, apart from the occasional fantasy.  
  
"It would be hot," Claire said.  
  
Sören's face burned, as he began opening up the paints.  
  
"I'd love to watch you with another man." Claire parted her thighs slightly, and Sören's gaze went to what was between, his face on fire now. "I told you about the time when we were just flatmates, and I came home early and found you with one of your conquests... wore out my vibrator that night..."  
  
Sören heard himself make a sharp exhale. "Claire... not helping."  
  
Claire gave him an evil grin. "Is this better?" She started touching herself.  
  
"OK, that is just fucking... warfare." He sat down in front of his easel. "And, are you sure  _that_  is how you want to be portrayed?"  
  
"If you're going to paint me nude, we might as well go all the way and make it sexy, too. You make me feel sexy."  
  
"You  _are_  sexy. This is gonna be hell, having to work and not touch you."  
  
Claire mimed a kiss. "Consider it payment for all those times you walked around the flat with your shirt off before we got together, or after we got together when I was trying to study, frustrating the  _hell_  out of me."  
  
"Oh yeah?" Sören stood up, and took off his Nine Inch Nails shirt, letting it fall to the floor. "There. It's on now."  
  
"Bloody hell," Claire hissed under her breath, and now it was Sören's turn to give her a saucy grin as he sat back down.  
  
"Mkay." Sören took out a brush, and got it ready. "You're  _very_  sure -"  
  
"Yes, dammit, Sören, yes means yes. This is..." She took a deep breath. "It's exciting. It feels  _healing_. Though... my parents probably shouldn't ever see this."  
  
Sören facepalmed, laughing, and it took him a moment to recover. "No, I wasn't ever going to show your parents -"  
  
"Well, you know that they like seeing what you paint." They even owned a painting of his, a gift, which was hanging up at their home in Sheffield.  
  
"They won't be allowed to see this." Sören cleared his throat. "All right, shall we begin?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
  
_  
  
  
Just painting Claire herself was time-consuming, never mind what the rest of the painting would turn into. He wanted to get her just right. Claire found that posing was harder than she thought, needing to take breaks to stretch, use the bathroom, get water...  
  
And even when not, she got fidgety. Sören tried to be polite about it, most of his reminders given with his eyes or eyebrows or a clear of his throat, not wanting an edge to creep into his voice. He knew that it had to be hard for her to lay in the same position for long periods of time, it would be hard for him too and he hadn't been in an accident months ago.  
  
Finally, it was her curiosity that interrupted. "Can I see it?"  
  
"It's not done yet."  
  
"I know, but I don't mind seeing the work in progress..."  
  
Sören usually  _did_  mind others seeing it before the finished product, though now and again he allowed Claire to look at his works in progress because the way she got all excited over them, flailing and squealing, was adorable and it stroked his ego the right way to fuel the determination to finish it. This still felt too unfinished, Claire's body floating in white space, but he was at a place where she, herself, was mostly done.  
  
Mostly. Something was missing, and he didn't know what, yet. Sometimes he had a very clear vision in his mind's eyes when he set out to work, and sometimes it was just a vague idea that unfolded only when he was drawing or painting.  
  
Sören gestured for her to come over. She got up and did, and her putting a hand on his shoulder, with the proximity of her naked body so close to him, made him hard again.  _Fuck._  
  
"Oh wow, Sören. That's..." She teared up a little. "You make me look like a goddess."  
  
"You are." Sören took her hands in his, and looked up at her adoringly. "You're my goddess."  
  
She threw her arms around him, and the feel of her naked skin... Sören shivered.  
  
Claire pulled back, starting to be aware she was arousing him and that might be too distracting. "Do you have an idea of what you're going to do with the rest of it?"  
  
"Well, you raise an interesting point that you look like a goddess here," Sören said. "So I might have you as one of the goddesses." The first thought that came to mind was Aphrodite, but she wasn't capricious and mean enough to be Aphrodite. He gestured to the palette he'd selected for the painting, all warm colors except for what he'd used for her eyes, which seemed to follow him from the canvas as he looked at the paints and back at the white space. "Kind of something hazy, dreamy, like clouds..."  
  
"I had the weirdest dream last night," Claire said, as she sat back down on the nest.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
She nodded. "I was dreaming that  _I dreamed about you._  That we hadn't met, and I didn't know who you were, though I somehow knew you here." She put her hand on her heart. "It felt weird, too, like... it was happening someplace else. Like it was me, and somehow not-me at the same time, like another version of me."  
  
"That is very strange. My brother has those theories on parallel universes, I wonder if you saw one."  
  
"Is that even possible...?"  
  
Sören shrugged. But then that gave him an idea, being reminded of other Greek mythology he'd read - Psyche, dreaming of Eros. Punished by Aphrodite, separated from him, forced to prove herself through a series of trials. _Something, something butterflies._  In the back of his mind, he saw the faintest glimmer of them being ripped apart on another world, something that wasn't Aphrodite, but still judging them... their souls calling to each other, trying to find their way back together again.  _What the fuck._  He shook his head, blinking.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"Jæja, just... I know what I'm doing now." He realized that his intuition had been spot-on about the camera and the tripod, even though he hadn't known that was why he was getting it ready. "I'm going to be in the painting with you." He shucked the rest of his clothing.  
  
He set up the camera, and posed, laying next to Claire, wrapping an arm around her, sensually kissing her neck, his hand straying close to her mound. He got up to time another shot, and again and again, in different poses - playing with her hair, fingers brushing a nipple, finally on her clit, with her hand covering his. Enough of his body would be visible in the poses to show his hard cock, so it wouldn't just be her nude.  
  
The shots had been teasing both of them, and finally Claire seized his face and kissed him deeply. "Can we call it a day?"  
  
"Yes, I can work from what I have," Sören said, and kissed her back.  
  
" _Good._ " She kissed him again, harder. "Because I want you now."  
  
And then Sören got up, as she made a noise of protest, glaring.  
  
"I can't leave these paints sitting out open," he said with a smirk, "and I have to clean my paintbrushes."  
  
" _Fuck._ "  
  
But then she teased him right back, touching herself, rubbing her clit in slow, lazy circles as he put his supplies away. Sören moaned with frustration as he put away his supplies, and the naughty grin she gave him just fueled his lust even more.  
  
"You want to be a tease," Claire said, "two can play at that game, you know."  
  
"Oh, I know. I'm going to tease you right back, when I'm back over there." Sören paused, considering. Then his eyes caught an unopened set of new paintbrushes. He grinned and opened it, pulling one out while Claire's eyes were closed, her breath hitching as her fingers rubbed faster and harder.  
  
He got back on the makeshift bed with one hand behind his back, holding the paintbrush, and then he leaned in for a kiss; she opened her eyes.  
  
The paintbrush traced around her lips, and then down her neck as he stole another kiss. The brush traced down the scar on her neck, his tongue following in the wake. Traced the scars on her chest and shoulder, his lips kissing, tongue licking, reverently. The brush found its way to her breasts, swirling around and around one aureole, then stroking the nipple, peaking it, before Sören lowered his mouth there, echoing the actions of the brush, tongue swirling and lapping as the brush teased the other breast. He suckled the nipple he was working on and then brought the brush back to it as his mouth made love to the breast where the brush had just been. Back and forth he went between her breasts, again and again, making her moan, arch to him, clutching his head, panting.  
  
"Sören..." Claire let out a whine.  
  
"Mmmmm." Sören gently tugged a nipple between his teeth. "I warned you about teasing,  _elskan._  I don't play."  
  
Claire made a strangled noise as he sucked her nipple again.  
  
The brush continued to play over her body, stomach, hips, thighs, his fingers and lips and tongue chasing the brush. Every now and again, his hand strayed to her mound, fingers stroking just over and above where she wanted him to, knowing he was driving her crazy. At last they roamed lower and Sören's breath caught at how soaked she was.  
  
The paintbrush made its way there, teasing around and around her clit, and then brushing and brushing her clit as his tongue worked inside her, sipping her cream, loving the sweet taste of her. His cock raged at the noises she made, the broken little sobs as her hips rolled against him, fucking his face, tugging on his curls. "Sören... oh,  _fuck_ , Sören..."  
  
He paused. "You like that,  _elskan_?"  
  
"Guhhhhh, god,  _fuck_ ," she growled.  
  
"That's not a yes."  
  
" _Yesdon'tyoufuckingstop_."  
  
He laughed into her as he resumed fucking her with his tongue, rubbing her clit with the brush. The sight of her clit swelling, juices dripping...  _god help me._  His free hand strayed to his cock, which itself was dripping, wanting her. After awhile he took his tongue out of her, and let the brush dance over her labia as he licked and sucked her clit, her cries and panting louder, gasping, shuddering.  
  
"Sören.  _Sören..._ "  
  
"Mmmmmmm." His tongue teased in circles around her clit. "You taste so fucking delicious." He resumed licking.  
  
He brought her to climax like that, and again with the brush on her clit and his tongue inside her, and again with the fingers of one hand in her, brushing her clit with the other hand, as he sucked her lips, tugged on them with his tongue. He loved the way the pink flower of her contrasted with the red-gold bush - he loved that she didn't shave there, as so many did. He would have liked it if she didn't shave at all, anywhere, but he knew that was a bit strange to her, even if she did dress more bohemian these days. He made her come again with his tongue on her clit, brush on her nipples, and again with the brush on her clit, tongue on her nipples. At last, not able to hold back his own lust, he kissed her deeply, and she moaned at the taste of herself on him.  
  
"Take me," she breathed.  
  
He slipped into her, one of her legs hooked around him. He went slow, as he had so many times since the accident, but this time wasn't to be careful and gentle, this time was to savor, feeling so much love for her, love that had only deepened in the years since they'd met, that had only grown stronger since the accident. His fingers continued to wander over her scars, at last stroking the scar across her forehead, over her temple. "You are so beautiful to me," he said. His hand rested on her heart. "Your soul is beautiful. It's like your body is the expression of your soul."  
  
Claire's eyes misted with tears. Her lips parted slightly, and she stroked his face.  
  
He kissed her hard, and she threw her arms around him.  
  
He kept it slow as long as he could, loving, loving,  _loving_ , connecting, that feeling of one flesh, melting with her, one need. When the heat was too much, he moved inside her harder and faster, then she started rocking against him, setting the pace harder still. He teased her clit with the paintbrush, and she howled, nails digging into him as he grinned.  
  
It didn't take long after that, her nails scratching his back, for Sören to go into beast mode, pounding into her, and she growled into him, finally biting his neck. Sören almost climaxed from that, and before she could bite him again and bring him off too soon, he propped her legs up on his shoulders and drove into her with abandon, something he hadn't done since before the accident. She bucked back at him, guiding the hand holding the paintbrush to press into her harder, stroke faster...  
  
"Oh god." Her breath caught.  
  
"That's it. Come for me,  _elskan_."  
  
She screamed his name, and he felt her contract, watched her contract. Three thrusts later and he was gone, crying out " _Claire_ " as he spent into her, shaking, gasping, letting out little moans as his cock throbbed and throbbed, feeling himself shoot so much it was like a flood. " _Fuck._ "  
  
Her contractions were still milking him. She was flushed, panting, eyes glassy, a look of triumph on her face.  
  
He sank down onto the mattresses, and they tangled up together, rocking each other, laughing from the sheer euphoria.  
  
"God, Sören, if this is what happens when you paint me, you can paint me every day."  
  
Sören laughed. "I don't think my balls would be able to handle another session of you naked for four or five hours and me not able to do anything about it. I almost died."  
  
Claire made a "world's smallest violin" gesture, and Sören tickled her, until she swatted his bottom.  
  
"What do you want to do for dinner?" he asked when they calmed down. "Are you even able to cook in your state?"  
  
"Oh god." Claire laughed, heaving. "I don't know if I can move. My entire body is jelly."  
  
"I'd apologize, but -"  
  
"You wouldn't be sorry, and I'm not sorry either."  
  
"Hi not sorry, either -"  
  
The fearsome scowl on Claire's face made Sören howl with laughter, and she smacked his ass again.  
  
"You want to go out?" he asked her.  
  
"That could be nice."  
  
After they cleaned up and changed, they opted for The Saint, and had a cozy meal, with Sören allowing himself a few drinks. He was relaxed enough to ask Claire if she wanted to take a detour rather than head straight home - rather than worrying that she needed to go rest right away - and they walked along the beach together, as the sun set.  
  
"There he is," Sören said in a hushed voice.  
  
He was dressed casual, a long-sleeved grey T-shirt and faded jeans, long dark hair to the middle of his back, blowing in the breeze. Playing an acoustic guitar, looking out at the sea, a sad expression on his lovely chiseled face... sad grey eyes.  _He's so beautiful, how is he even real,_  Sören thought to himself, heat flushing his cheeks. Sören and Claire stood there a couple meters away from the guitarist for a little while, hand-in-hand, just watching listening to him play, something beautifully melancholy that felt terribly romantic at the same time, something they'd never heard before. Sören closed his eyes, swaying a little to the music, and got the mental image of someone wandering endlessly, never able to go home again, trying to take what little, simple comfort he could in the world, watching others and longing for companionship. Sören felt a pang, thinking of Iceland, and his own deep loneliness before Claire.  _I love you,_  his lips mouthed as his eyes met hers, knowing the music was affecting her too, stealing a kiss.  
  
At last, Sören, given courage by the alcohol, strode over to the guitarist, with a £50 banknote in his hand. The man didn't look homeless or poor, but Sören still felt compelled.  
  
"Did you write that yourself?" Sören asked.  
  
The man just nodded.  
  
"Here."  
  
"I don't need your money -" He sounded English, not Scottish, which surprised Sören.  
  
"Even if you don't, take this. My lady and I enjoyed your music very much. You've got a gift, please accept a gift for a gift." Which was the truth - Sören wanted him to be compensated in some way for that.  
  
Sören pressed the banknote into his hand, noticing that the hand was badly scarred, and feeling weirdly self-conscious about it, trying not to stare, but the man saw him staring.  
  
"It's an old war wound."  
  
"Iraq?" He seemed about the right age to have been in the Gulf War in the early aughts, mid thirties if Sören had to guess.  
  
The man said nothing, and Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. "Sorry."  
  
"It's all right." He looked at Sören, and then at Claire. "You have a nice evening."  
  
"You too." Sören smiled apologetically, and hurried off. "God, I feel like the biggest arse," he muttered to Claire.  
  
"You were fine."  
  
"Ha ha. No, no I wasn't." He could feel the man's eyes following him as they walked.  
  
Claire put an arm around Sören's waist. "You were trying to be kind. You've got such a good heart. And I think he understood that."  
  
"I hope so."  
  
They kept walking - Sören was impressed by how much stamina Claire had now. When they got to the front door, Claire did finally have to rest for a few minutes, and she leaned on Sören. His arms held her, tightened around her.  
  
Then he led her inside. "Welcome home," he said, with a kiss.  
  
"You are my home."  
  
Sören choked up at that, and kissed her harder, marching her towards the stairs.


	3. Happy Birthday

**Happy Birthday**

 

On the morning of Friday, August twenty-eighth, Claire got up as she usually did. She was a much earlier riser before the accident, then very early morning wake-ups were reserved for her physical therapy appointments, and since the move to Scotland she'd been on a much more relaxed schedule, though usually up before Sören, who liked to sleep late and stay up late; once in awhile Sören would wake up when she did, which would usually result in morning sex and put a smile on both their faces. And she'd had a habit of waking him up before difficult court cases to ride them both to climax, which he never minded, though he otherwise was not a morning person.  
  
She was surprised that Sören wasn't next to her in bed as her eyes opened, and she wondered if he'd pulled an all-nighter painting. She sat up, naked - they'd made love last night and frequently slept in the nude - and walked down the hall. It occurred to her after a few steps that she was still naked, and chuckled to herself. Icelanders were very casual about nudity, something that had surprised her visiting Reykjavik years ago, and even moreso when she and Sören were just friends living together, though once Sören understood that wasn't the norm in the UK he'd been considerate and would at least put on boxer-briefs around the flat. But after they'd become lovers, Sören went back to more casual nudity, and it seemed she was finally succumbing to the influence.  
  
She was finally starting to feel comfortable enough in her own skin to succumb to the influence. It felt good.  
  
She thought about calling to him, but didn't want to startle him if he was painting. When she reached the studio door, however, he wasn't there.  _Odd._  
  
She went downstairs, slowly, to see if maybe he was eating breakfast, and prepared herself for the inevitable comments about eating her instead. The dishwasher was running, which was a sign he'd been here recently, but he usually didn't use enough dishes in the morning to warrant running it, either.  
  
She drew back the curtain just enough to peek outside; his black Vauxhall was gone.  _I wonder where he is._  
  
She went to the fridge to fetch the orange juice and pour herself a glass, and then she noticed, on the middle shelf, something that was shaped suspiciously like a cake, wrapped in tinfoil. She gasped a little at it, and her hand went to her heart when she realized he had probably gotten up at the crack of dawn to bake it.  
  
She heard a car coming down the street, and she went back upstairs, going as quickly as she could - still taking it easy with her recovery, but pleased she was making progress with speed; she didn't want to take the chance that Sören would open the door to her naked with someone happening to walk by right at that moment. She pulled on clean knickers and matching bra, a blue broomstick skirt, and a gauzy cream blouse with blue trim, and was brushing her hair when she heard Sören's keys in the door.  
  
A few minutes later she started to come downstairs and Sören's voice called out, "Claire, don't come down yet."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because... reasons."  
  
Claire snorted. Then Sören said, "I'll call you down, OK?"  
  
Claire went back up, sat on the bed, and waited. After what felt like forever, Sören called up, "CLAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIRE."  
  
Claire went downstairs again, and Sören was waiting at the bottom of the stairs...  
  
...wearing a small, brightly patterned, conical paper party hat. He had a noisemaker in his mouth and blew it at her.  
  
Claire facepalmed, and started giggling when Sören shoved a party hat on her head and blew the noisemaker again.  
  
Then in a breathy voice, imitating Marilyn Monroe, Sören did his best seductive pose leaning against the stairwell - made more hilarious by the party hat and the Super Mario T-shirt he had on - as he sang:  
  
_Happy birthday to you  
Happy birth...day... to you  
Happy birth...day... Ms... Not-the-President...  
Happy birthday to you_  
  
"Sören, why are you like this?"  
  
Sören kissed the tip of her nose. "I have something for you."  
  
"It's in your shorts, right?"  
  
"That's later." Sören grinned.  
  
There was now a large tank on the living room floor, with grass clippings and peat moss strewn across the floor of the tank. There was a hide box and a rock as a sloping area, with a UVB lamp over the slope. There was a water dish, and a few food troughs with fresh produce and grasses in them.  
  
Sören pulled her hand and got down on his hands and knees in front of the tank, and Claire knelt down as well. "What am I looking a-"  
  
"Shhh," Sören said. Then he pointed.  
  
A tiny tortoise came out of the hide box, not bigger than eight inches, a black shell with a yellow criss-cross pattern. Claire gasped with delight, and then again as another tortoise of the same kind crawled out, about six inches. One went to the slope to bask in the light and heat of the lamp, and the other went to the water dish.  
  
Claire's hands flew over her mouth as she let out a high-pitched squeal, not wanting to scare the tortoises. Sören beamed, and she threw her arms around him and gave him a big kiss. "It's a tiny Copernicus!" she yelled, laughing and crying at the same time. "You remembered..."  
  
"Of course I remembered." Sören stroked her cheek. He looked down, suddenly shy, and husked, "That was the moment when I realized I'd fallen in love with you."  
  
When they'd had the talk about their feelings on New Year's Day 2006, after making love for the first time New Year's Eve, Sören had admitted he'd had feelings for "awhile", but he'd never been clear about how long "awhile" was. That conversation, about imaginary friends in childhood, had been all the way back in 2003.  
  
"That long?" Claire's eyes were wide.  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
Claire swallowed hard. She'd started to have feelings for him in Iceland, not thinking they'd be returned, and... "I could have told you back then I'd felt the same way...?"  
  
Sören nodded again. "It scared the shit out of me, so obviously I didn't tell you for years, but. Yeah. You could have told me, and I would have said yes."  
  
Claire kissed him again, and he kissed her back. Then, breathing hard, she looked back at the tortoises.  
  
"They're Indian Star tortoises. And they're mates," Sören said.  
  
"Like us." She took his hand.  
  
"Like us. The seller convinced me to buy a pair so they'd be happier together than being solitary. So long as we take good care of them and keep them at the right temperature - 26 Celsius or so, which is easy to do with the lamp - they can live to be anywhere from 30 to 80 years old."  
  
_80 years. We'll be over a hundred._  And Claire realized, seeing herself and Sören growing old together was so natural. None of the  _will we still be together in ten years_  doubts. She squeezed his hand.  
  
"You'll still be hot when you're an old lady. Like Helen Mirren." Sören made a little "rowr" noise.  
  
Claire gave him a playful swat. "You have a one-track mind."  
  
"I can think of things other than sex. Like tortoises!" Sören looked at them again. "The boy is the smaller one." He pointed to the smaller tortoise who'd been drinking at the trough, who joined his mate on the slope now. "The girl needs a name."  
  
"Right." Claire thought back to the conversation they'd had about imaginary friends in 2003.  
  
_"I had one of the huldufólk. Right, um... elves? In English. My mother claimed she saw one when she was a little girl, and I had one as a friend when I was a small boy. She looked like she could be my sister, her name sounded kind of like Moria or something but that wasn't quite right."_  
  
"Moria?" Claire looked at him.  
  
Sören closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shook his head. Then he opened his eyes and looked at her. "Not Moria. Moriel."  
  
"So you finally did learn her name." Claire raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Jæja, oh boy... this is crazy talk." Sören rubbed his face. "When I attempted suicide, overdosed and slit my wrists the right way, and I was unconscious... this is such a fucking cliche, but, like, I saw her. After all those years of her being gone, because I outgrew having an imaginary friend, there she was. I was going towards the light, and she was trying to pull me back, back to the land of the living, even though I didn't want to go. And I was calling her by her name, I heard myself saying  _Moriel_ , and this is the craziest part about it... she called me Father."  
  
"Wow, that is weird." Claire didn't know what to make of it.  
  
"Very, very weird. I'm still not sure what to think, all these years later." Sören shrugged. "But, ah... OK, Moriel it is, then."  
  
Sören got up, and helped her up. Claire hugged him again.  
  
"You like it? I didn't know what to get you -" Sören returned the hug.  
  
"Sören. I love it. They're so cute!" She kissed him, and what was meant to be a quick peck became slow and sensual, the two moaning as their tongues met, swirled together, and his hands slid down her back.  
  
"The painting of you... of us... isn't finished yet." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls, looking a little sheepish. "Probably a few more days. I wanted to get you something more but I didn't know what -"  
  
"No, Sören, it's perfect. Where did you even find tortoises around here, anyway?"  
  
"The Internet. Remember when you saw me with my laptop in the studio and asked if I was reading slash?"  
  
"You sneak." Claire swatted his ass.  
  
"So this morning I went out to pick them up -"  
  
"Yeah, just the fact that you got up  _in the early morning_  to surprise me for my birthday says a lot." Claire, not wanting to get choked up again, put a hand on her hip. "There's a cake in there, isn't there?"  
  
"Actually it's a severed head, I just wrapped it to look like a cake -"  
  
Claire swatted his other ass cheek. Sören's laughter rang out.  
  
"I swear to god, Sören."  
  
"It's a cake. One that we can't touch yet, because... we're bringing it to Gitta and Jane's later. They're insisting on giving you a birthday dinner."  
  
"That'll be great, they're such good cooks." As one would expect with them running a bed-and-breakfast that also served lunch and dinner.  
  
"Aaaand they want to take us on a guided tour of the Old Course, for 2 PM."  
  
"What do we do in the meantime?"  
  
"I'll make you breakfast," Sören said. "You want pancakes?"  
  
Claire nodded, feeling like a big kid again.  
  
Sören made her a big stack of perfectly light and fluffy pancakes, topped with sliced strawberries, bananas, and whipped cream. He also made bacon and home fries, and when he sat down at the table to join her, he had more bacon and home fries than pancakes, which didn't surprise her. In a playful mood, Claire stole a piece of bacon from him, even though she had a plate of bacon of her own, and gave him a naughty grin as she took a bite.  
  
"Are you stealing my bacon?" Sören raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I'm borrowing it."  
  
" _Borrowing_  it. I see." Sören made the OK hand.  
  
"Yes, like this." Claire kissed him with a mouthful of bacon.  
  
Sören growled into the kiss. "You know..." His hand reached for her knee under the table. "I'm tempted to take you right here on the table."  
  
"If that's the case..." Claire took another piece of bacon off his plate, feeling a little randy.  
  
Sören looked like he was ready to pounce on her - which just made her feel randier - and then they heard his cell phone going off. " _Djöfulsins helvíti,_ " Sören swore, pulling the phone out of his pocket. His eyes widened with recognition at the number on the screen. "Harrison! Hello! ...Jæja, Claire's here. I think her phone must have been off..."  
  
"I left it upstairs." Claire facepalmed.  
  
"Claire, do you want to talk to your cousin now, or... later?" Sören waggled his eyebrows.  
  
As much as Claire wanted Sören to make good on his urge to take her on the table, she knew she wouldn't be able to fully relax knowing Harrison would be practically holding his breath waiting for the moment when she'd call him back. "I can take it now."  
  
Sören nodded, making a moue that made Claire giggle, and she mouthed "We'll make up for it later" as Sören nibbled on his bacon.  
  
"Hi Harrison."  
  
Harrison started belting out "Happy Birthday", loud enough that Sören could hear, and at the end he applauded and said, "Get that kid to Broadway or Simon Cowell or something."  
  
"Awwww," Harrison said.  
  
"Harrison. How are you doing?"  
  
"Good, I guess. Nervous about school. How are you? How's settling into St. Andrews going?"  
  
"Oh my god, Harrison, you need to come up here one of these weekends and see the place. It's on the Harbour, it's big and gorgeous, we even have a guest room so if you want to stay over, or someone in Sören's family comes to visit, you can. We've been getting furniture, and decorating. A couple rooms could use a fresh coat of paint, and I think we want to re-tile the kitchen and bathrooms, kitchen cabinets might need re-doing, but overall it's such a nice place!"  
  
"Good, I'm glad. Maybe I can clear a weekend in a couple months. You doing anything special for your birthday?"  
  
"Sören got me a pair of tortoises."  
  
"...Tortoises."  
  
"Yes. Their names are Copernicus and Moriel."  
  
"Wh-what."  
  
Claire laughed at his reaction.  
  
"You guys are so weird," Harrison went on.  
  
"And?"  
  
"And I miss you terribly."  
  
"I miss you too." Claire felt that lump in her throat again.  
  
"Tell him I said get his arse up here," Sören said through a mouthful of home fries.  
  
"I just told him to come visit, you were right here."  
  
"No, tell him  _I said._ "  
  
"I HEAR YOU JUST FINE," Harrison yelled, loud enough that Claire had to hold the phone away from her ear.  
  
"Anyway," Claire said, chuckling, "Sören baked me a cake. We're taking it to his aunt Gitta and Jane's... and they're taking us on a guided walk of the Old Course."  
  
"Golf."  
  
"Golf. It's historic, Harrison. The bridge by the 18th hole -"  
  
Sören started snickering at the same time Harrison did. Claire facepalmed. "BOTH OF YOU."  
  
"I'm sorry," Harrison said.  
  
"You're not sorry and you know it."  
  
"HI SORRY," Sören yelled.  
  
"OH GODDAMMIT," Harrison yelled back.  
  
Claire shook her head and rolled her eyes. She  _almost_  regretted telling Harrison to come visit, knowing he and Sören egged each other on, but she really did want to see him. "As I was saying, the bridge by the 18th hole don't-you-even-start-Sören -" Sören gave her an innocent face that wasn't innocent at all. "Is 700 years old. It's a piece of history. Gitta and Jane know I like history."  
  
"Jane would know about the bridge being 700 years old, because she was there," Sören quipped.  
  
Claire kicked him under the table. "She's sixty-one, Sören, for fuck's sake."  
  
"Gitta busts her ass about their age difference. Of course Jane can outrun her and pick her up and carry her, Harrison you ought to see this woman," Sören said.  
  
"Do you want to talk to him for awhile?" Claire raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I shouldn't keep butting in, I just miss my bro," Sören said.  
  
Claire patted him.  
  
"And I shouldn't keep you, I just wanted to make sure you were doing OK, having a good birthday, 'cos you know, I worry." Harrison sighed a little. "And wow, a guided walk... that's a lot of walking...?"  
  
"A guided walk assumes walking, Harrison, yes."  
  
"Yeah. Derp. But I mean, you're OK to do all that now?"  
  
"I'm not  _quite_  where I used to be before the accident, but bit by bit, it's coming back. I can manage the walk, I'm pretty sure."  
  
"That's awesome. I'm so proud of you."  
  
Claire got choked up again. "I'm proud of me too."  
  
"Hi proud of me too -" Sören grinned.  
  
" _Sören._ "  
  
"Mkay, sounds like someone's getting birthday spankings and it's not you," Harrison said.  
  
"Harrison - how do you even -"  
  
Sören heard that, cackling. "He's not a little kid anymore, Claire."  
  
"Apparently not." Claire pinched the bridge of her nose.  
  
Harrison chuckled. "I should let you go, but, ah... I'll call you again soon and we can make more concrete plans for me visiting, OK?"  
  
"Sounds good." A pause, and Claire said, "I love you."  
  
"I love you too."  
  
Claire hit End and handed Sören's phone back to him. "I better go get my phone."  
  
Sören nodded. "I can get it for you if you don't want to take another trip with the stairs -"  
  
"Well, I need to start doing things again..."  
  
"I know, but you're also going to be doing a lot of walking in a few hours, so... let me wait on you, since it's your birthday?"  
  
"OK."  
  
"Besides, you can watch the tortoises."  
  
That made her feel better about it, and she parked herself in front of the tank, watching Copernicus and Moriel. Every little movement was fascinating to her; she couldn't get over how cute they were. When Sören came downstairs, he was on the phone, and when Claire looked over her shoulder at him, she saw he was on her phone.  
  
Sören handed the phone to her. "It's your mum."  
  
_Of course._  Claire took the phone. "Hi, Mum."  
  
" _Happy birthday to you_  -"  
  
  
_  
  
After close to an hour of her mother's worrying and nagging, during which time Sören went to go get the charger so she could keep talking, Claire was finally off the phone with her mother, and Sören pulled her close to him on the couch as she laughed and cried on his shoulder.  
  
"Your mother. More like your  _smother_ ," Sören quipped.  
  
"I want to say she's not that bad, but."  
  
Sören threw his head back and laughed. He stroked her hair. "I had to fight so hard to behave myself when she asked if you were eating properly."  
  
It took a moment and then she facepalmed. "Dammit, Sören." She shook with belly laughter. "Sören, no."  
  
"Like I said... I behaved myself." Sören's eyes gleamed. Then he got more serious for a moment. "I know Darrell means well."  
  
"She does." Claire nodded. "I think she would have fussed less if I wasn't an only child. Maybe."  
  
"Maybe. Oh, speaking of which, make sure you get on Skype sometime tonight, my family wants to chat with you."  
  
"Awwwww." Claire hugged Sören. "Your brother and sister and cousin have been so good to me."  
  
"They love you." Sören kissed her forehead. "They know I love you, and you make me happy, and that means a lot to them." He took her hand and kissed it.  
  
"It means a lot to me too, especially when." Claire's voice trailed off.  
  
"When what?" Sören's eyebrows went up.  
  
"Oh, nothing."  
  
"Claire." Sören gave her a stern look.  
  
Claire felt self-conscious about it, like a teenager worrying about her popularity, but she'd come out with it anyway. "Oh, just. None of my old colleagues have bothered to call to wish me a happy birthday. I know I resigned but I've seen them keep in touch with other people who left or retired -"  
  
"You know how I feel about most of your 'colleagues,'" Sören made air quotes, "and that work environment. I'm honestly not surprised none of them have called you."  
  
"I shouldn't be surprised, no. It still hurts." Claire looked down. "Especially when that's been my social circle the last few years -"  
  
"Actually, it's funny you mention that because, I've been thinking, since we moved up here... why don't you look up some of your old friends? You told me about Lucy and Puneet. I'm sure they'd be thrilled to hear from you."  
  
"See that's the thing. I worry that they'd be angry at me for contact fizzling out -"  
  
"Maybe, maybe not, but you won't know till you try, and you can always tell them honestly what things were like." Sören patted her shoulder. "You need friends. Real friends, not that phony bullshit office politics that called itself friendship."  
  
"Yeah, I suppose." Claire nodded, feeling choked up all over again remembering Lucy and Puneet. Then she took his chin in her hand, skritched his beard. "You need friends too."  
  
"I'm not great at people."  
  
"You were pretty great with me in Reykjavik."  
  
"Well, you were different. There was something about you."  
  
"I don't know, maybe you'll find someone who's something different to be friends with out here, because this place..." Claire took a deep breath. "It doesn't have the same exact kind of magic as Iceland, but it has that similar old, deep, wild magic feeling. The kind of magic that makes things happen. You know what I mean?"  
  
Sören nodded solemnly. "I know what you mean."  
  
"So we should find you a friend." Claire couldn't resist teasing him, though it got her worked up thinking about it, too. "You know what I'd really like for my birthday next year? You having a very... special friend. And getting to watch the two of you together."  
  
Sören blushed, and giggled. "You naughty thing."  
  
"I'm being serious." Then she hissed, "Sören -"  
  
It was too late. "Hi being serious, I'm -"  
  
Claire grabbed his curls and tweaked his nose, and Sören laughed. "Your face," he said. "You're so cute when you make that face." He booped her nose.  
  
"And you are a brat," Claire said.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And that doesn't get you off the hook with this topic of discussion."  
  
"No, it doesn't. I'll think about it. It's been awhile and it's tempting but, you know, I have standards."  
  
"I'm not asking you to abandon your standards. I'm asking you to consider getting a friend with benefits who wouldn't be averse to me watching you have some hot man-on-man fun."  
  
Sören grinned.  
  
"Oh no," Claire said under her breath.  
  
"Hi asking you to consider -"  
  
Claire threw a couch pillow at him, and Sören threw it back at her, and the two got into a pillow fight with the couch pillows, which ended with them tickle-wrestling on the couch. When Claire was on her back, wrists pinned, Sören kissing her passionately, Claire arched to him, and then Sören's phone alarm went off.  
  
"Shit, we gotta get ready for the guided walk thing," Sören said.  
  
"Dammit."  
  
"We'll..." Sören coughed. "Later."  
  
"We better or I'm gonna explode."  
  
"Hi gonna explode -"  
  
  
_  
  
Claire was very fond of Sören's aunt, his mother's younger sister, who had moved to Scotland when he was only four. Birgitta Jónsdóttir had been prohibited from contacting the children by Sören's father's sister Katrín and her husband Einar, who'd raised Sören from the time he was six onward, and were abusive drunks; Sören had not known Gitta was barred from contact and just assumed he and his siblings had been abandoned. But Katrín and Einar had not approved of Gitta taking up with another woman, a story that came out when Sören moved in with Claire in London in 2005 and Claire encouraged him to look up what remaining blood family he had. Gitta was overjoyed to hear from him, and since 2006 they'd gone to Scotland at least once a year to stay with Gitta and her partner Jane MacGregor. Someday, they would go to Australia to visit Sören's uncle Böðvar - Brynhildur and Birgitta's younger brother, who was also barred from contact by Katrín and Einar, this time for marrying an Aboriginal woman - and meet the half-Icelandic, half-Aborigine cousins Sören hadn't known he had prior to a few years ago; he was already friends with a couple of them on Facebook.  
  
Gitta was forty-six, and Jane fifteen years her senior. Gitta was tall, with long wavy dark hair, grey eyes, pale, and a sweet, cherubic face with dimples that reminded Claire of a feminine version of Sören's brother Dagnýr. Jane was also tall, a trim and shapely figure most younger women would kill for at that age, silver-haired, ruddy-complexioned, hawk-featured, thick and expressive eyebrows, fond of wearing purple, while Gitta favored earth tones and green. They hugged Sören and Claire warmly when they arrived at the bed-and-breakfast, with Jane taking the cake to put in the fridge for later, and they piled into Sören's Vauxhall to drive to the Old Course.  
  
It was lovely end-of-summer weather, even Sören was comfortable. Even though Sören and Claire were well-off, Gitta and Jane still insisted on paying for the guided walk, which was around the 1st, 17th and 18th holes. Jane was an avid golfer, and they knew Claire would appreciate the scenic beauty of the course as well as its history. Sören thought golf was boring unless it was miniature golf, but he also went along for the view, pausing every so often to snap photos, including the occasional selfie, and a few with Claire.  
  
Despite Sören's boredom with the subject of golf, he still listened to the presenter, and started to make a game of giving Claire a naughty look every time the presenter said the word "hole", while Claire had to remain deadpan, trying not to encourage him. Eventually Gitta caught on to what her nephew was doing and the grin she flashed made Claire stifle a giggle, which erupted when Jane glared at them; Claire clapped her hand over her mouth and Sören made the most innocent of innocent faces, even whistling a little. From that point on, it got worse, with Sören wiggling his eyebrows every time the presenter said "hole", Gitta pursing her lips or looking off to the side as she shook with silent laughter, Jane scowling at both of them.  
  
Sören snapped a photo of Gitta grinning as Jane continued scowling. "That's perfect."  
  
Sören then handed the camera to Jane, as he and Claire were about to walk on the bridge by the 18th hole. "It's a great photo opportunity," he said, putting an arm around Claire, their faces close, hair stirring in the breeze. "Not every day you and I get to be on top of something really ancient."  
  
After the tour was over, they went back to Gitta and Jane's bed-and-breakfast, in the portion that was their own living space. Claire was proud of herself again for having walked as much as she did without incident, though she did need a rest now, and Sören had no objection to that. They spoon-cuddled up on the couch together and watched the BBC, petting Gitta and Jane's cat Picard, named because he had bald spots from mange when they rescued him though the fur had since grown back, "and you can almost hear him say 'make it so' when he makes us wait on him," Gitta had explained.  
  
They had a few other cats - a giant brown Norwegian Forest Cat with blue eyes named Riker, a blind black cat named LaForge, an orange tabby named Crusher. When they'd been on the couch for awhile, all the cats were there, LaForge laying on the ottoman near the couch, Crusher laying on Sören's back kneading and purring, Riker sitting on an arm of the couch to get pettings from Claire. Cuddling with all the cats made Claire wonder about them getting a cat or two also, now that they had tortoises. Sören was a cat lover, and maybe for his birthday...  
  
_Or sooner._  She thought about surprising him, one of these days, since Sören himself was always full of surprises. She smiled at the idea.  
  
Gitta and Jane went all out for Claire's birthday dinner, making grilled salmon, chicken, and steak, with herbed roasted vegetables and freshly baked bread. There were leftovers which Gitta and Jane insisted Sören and Claire take home, packing them up, and then the cake was unveiled, a decadent red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting and strawberries.  
  
"Sören, you baked this?" Gitta looked surprised.  
  
"Yeah, I got the recipe from one of those cooking shows," Sören said.  
  
Claire would have been impressed even if it was a simple yellow cake, but Sören's cake was a work of art, and tasted like a masterpiece. Though watching Sören pick strawberries off the top of his piece of cake and wrap his lips around them made Claire twinge with sexual need again, made worse when Sören's hand reached for her under the table, rubbing her knee with a knowing look in his eyes.  
  
After dessert - there was leftover cake to take home, too, though Claire insisted Gitta and Jane each cut another piece for themselves - Jane brought out a bottle of Auchentoshan. It was one of the things Claire appreciated about Jane, that she was a whisky connoisseur the way her beloved late grandfather, Joshua, had been. She liked to think Joshua and Jane would have gotten along well, and he wouldn't have cared that Jane was partnered to a lady.  
  
"So," Gitta asked, "what did this nephew of mine get you for your birthday?"  
  
"A pair of tortoises," Claire said.  
  
She could tell from the look on Gitta's face she wasn't expecting that. "That's.. different."  
  
"Sören's different," Claire said, and stroked his face. "I like it."  
  
"Sören is a special boy," Gitta said, nodding. "So... tortoises. What does that entail?"  
  
Sören explained the care and feeding, and went on to say, "They'll live anywhere from 30 to 80 years old."  
  
"Oh, my. That's quite a commitment." Gitta and Jane looked at each other, and Jane silently raised her glass of whisky.  
  
Claire could almost hear the  _When are you going to get married?_  hanging at the end of that, and Sören looked down at his Doc Martens, and LaForge rubbed up against Gitta's legs and hopped up on her lap, purring.  
  
"Yes," Gitta cooed, skritching the cat. "Even though you can't see, you still know where to go, don't you?" She looked over at Sören and Claire, as if her words were meant just as much for them as for her cat.  
  
Claire's heart raced, a little.  _Yes, I want this._  But she didn't say so out loud. Sören seemed a little nervous about the subject, and it wasn't something they needed to discuss now,  _or should discuss on my birthday, in case that isn't what he wants..._  
  
Claire pushed that thought aside.  
  
Jane cut in, then. "How is settling in coming along?"  
  
"Almost there." Sören nodded. "We should have you guys over for dinner soon so you can see the place and the tortoises."  
  
"And actually..." It was like a lightbulb went off over Claire's head. "I talked to my cousin Harrison today and he'll be coming up one of these weekends. You should meet him, since you're family and he's family."  
  
"We'd like that," Gitta said. "One more person to fuss over and spoil."  
  
Jane nodded. "And teach about the finer points of whisky."  
  
"He's seventeen," Claire said.  
  
"You weren't that much older when we met and you told me about your grandfather," Sören said.  
  
"OK, but -"  
  
"He'll have supervision, and besides, whisky tasting is about tasting it, savoring it, not guzzling it down," Jane assured. "On that note, we have something for you..."  
  
Jane got up and came back with an unopened bottle of Talisker 18. Claire leapt up and threw her arms around Jane, who hugged her back, chuckling. Then Gitta got up to give her a hug also.  
  
"Thank you," Claire said, kissing Gitta's cheek.  
  
Gitta patted her. "Thank  _you_ ," she whispered, "for taking care of him. He's precious to me, you know."  
  
"I know," Claire said softly. "He's precious to me too."  
  
  
_  
  
  
After Claire and Sören had a group chat on Skype with Dagnýr, Margrét and Ari, they watched Copernicus and Moriel some more - Sören changed their water dish.  
  
"I can't get over how tiny and cute they are," Claire said.  
  
"I can't either," Sören said. "They're like little babies."  
  
Claire snuggled against him, and for a moment Sören stroked her hair, and she wondered if he was thinking what she was thinking, once again seeing herself with a tiny version of herself, a tiny version of him.  
  
_OK, biological clock, calm down._  
  
"Do you want to go upstairs?" Sören asked, giving her a pointed look.  
  
"I do, but I want a shower before we, uh." Claire made a face. "I worked up a bit of a sweat walking around all day."  
  
"That's kind of sexy."  
  
"It is to  _you._ " He was very European in that regard; he'd be fine if she didn't shave her armpits or legs either, he'd let her know on more than one occasion, but... "I still want a shower."  
  
"OK." Sören grinned. "You want me to join you?"  
  
They kissed under the water, and lathered each other slowly, sensually, paying special attention to each other's nipples, and Sören's fingers drew lazy circles on her stomach - knowing she was sensitive there - before playing between her legs. She loved it when he shampooed her hair, massaging her scalp, and kissed her neck and shoulder as she rinsed off, her back against his chest, his arms around her, feeling his hard-on against the crack of her ass. By the time they got out of the shower to towel off, she was more than ready for sex, and then on the way to the bedroom, Sören said, "I forgot something."  
  
Claire glared at him as he ran downstairs, a towel around his waist, cackling. She made her way to the bedroom and got on the bed, naked, which is how he found her when he walked in with a bowl of peach slices and a can of whipped cream.  
  
"Oh," she said, not expecting that.  
  
"I know we had cake, but, we can have second dessert. Like second breakfast."  
  
Claire laughed at that. Sören took off the towel and sauntered over to the bed, naked. There were two spoons in the bowl of peach slices, and Sören opened the can of whipped cream and made a big pile of it on top of the peaches. They ate for a few minutes, with Sören making a show of licking and sucking the spoon, heat in his dark eyes, and it became apparent this wasn't just Sören indulging their sweet tooth. That suspicion was confirmed when Sören "accidentally" spilled a spoonful of peaches and cream onto her thigh and said, "Oops," and then leaned down to eat it off her, continuing to lick at the juices once the peaches and cream was in his mouth. Claire moaned, and Sören looked up at her.  
  
They kissed, and then Claire pushed Sören onto his back, took a spoonful of peaches and cream and dropped it onto Sören's chest. And another, and another, making a trail from his chest down to his abs. Sören grinned at her, and then it was his turn to moan as Claire ate it off him, sucking on the exposed flesh. She dripped peach juice onto his nipple, and lapped it, making Sören arch to her and cry out. She did the same with the other, throbbing at the sound of his response. She reached for the can of whipped cream and sprayed it over his chest and stomach, licking it off from his stomach on up, sucking his nipples hard, her fingers straying between her legs to rub her aching clit as his moans got louder.  
  
Sören kissed her hard, and then it was her turn. He dumped the remaining contents of the bowl over her torso, covered it with more whipped cream, sprayed whipped cream over her thighs, and proceeded to feast on her, eating the peaches, licking the skin once it had been cleaned off. By the time he got to her thighs, licking and kissing off the cream, Claire could hear herself panting, whimpering a little, searing hot need in her.  
  
There was some lingering peach juice in the bowl, and Sören dipped his fingers into it and stuck them in Claire's mouth. She sucked his fingers, licked them, and he dripped the rest of the juice in the bowl over her nipples, licking, suckling, nibbling. "So good," he said, the feel of his voice and breath against her skin threatening to send her off on its own. He licked at her stomach and thighs some more. "I can still taste it on you. So sweet."  
  
"God, Sören..."  
  
"But not as sweet and delicious as this." His head moved from her thigh, to her mound, and she cried out as he took his first lick.  
  
Sören ate her slowly, eyes riveted on her. "You are already  _so wet_ ," he purred, making a sipping sound as his lips pressed into her, wrapped around her clit. She cried out again, arching to him, pulling on his curls, and he growled a little before licking at her some more, continuing to go slow, savoring, teasing.  
  
He edged her and edged her, and when she shattered into her first climax, it was intense, making her gush. Sören's tongue greedily lapped the flowing juices, giving her aftershocks. A few moments later and he was licking her again, knowing he could give her multiple orgasms, and that was what he did, making her come and come and come until she lost count, until it felt like one endless climax, sobbing.  
  
When he finally stopped, giving his jaw a rest, she passed out a little, and came back to him petting her, love in his eyes. She stroked his face, felt his hard-on pressed against her thigh, patiently waiting. "I love you," she husked.  
  
"I love you too." Sören kissed her again.  
  
"How long was I out...?"  
  
"Not long." He kissed the tip of her nose. "I would have let you sleep and taken care of myself if -"  
  
"Oh, Sören." She kissed him gently, and the kiss became heated. She rolled him onto his back, wanting him again, knowing how good her orgasms were when she had him inside her after he'd eaten her. She sank down on him, wet enough that he slipped right inside, and she reveled in the sound of his moan as he felt her wrap around him.  
  
She rode him slowly. His hands roamed over her, and she reached down to take his face in her hands, choked up a little at the worship in his eyes. "You're so beautiful," he whispered. His fingers brushed her nipples, making her sigh with pleasure. "I love watching you ride me,  _elskan._  I love that we can do this again."  
  
"It's been too long." She would never take it for granted, now. She clenched her inner muscles around him to tease him, grinning as he groaned and grabbed her hips, thrusting into her a little harder and faster.  
  
As she rode they caressed each other - she loved playing with his nipple rings - and she leaned down to kiss him, their nipples rubbing together, and he leaned up to kiss her, arms around her. At last, with his face between her breasts, her arms holding him tight, she rode him hard, his fingers rubbing her clit to the rhythm of their fuck. She was so close, gasping for breath, and she could feel him trembling, holding back, wanting her to come first. She pulled his hair again, their eyes met, and then those full lips wrapped around a nipple and she lost it, coming hard, continuing to contract and throb as she felt Sören spending into her, hearing him moaning in Icelandic.  
  
They were laying back against the pillows now, shivering together as their orgasm ebbed. "I love you," Sören whispered into her hair. "I love you so much, Claire. I love you..."  
  
" _Ástin mín._ " Claire looked up, and smiled at him.  
  
They kissed softly, gently, and he held her again. A few minutes later, Claire started to cry.  
  
"Claire,  _elskan._  Are you all right?" There was a note of concern in Sören's voice, on the verge of his own tears from her tears.  
  
"Better than all right. It's just..." She wiped her eyes, which didn't really do anything when a fresh flood of tears came. "It's been such a rough year, with the accident and the recovery, and I didn't know if I'd even have another birthday, or you know, I would but I'd be too laid up to do anything, and this was  _so much_  better than I expected."  
  
"Oh." Sören kissed her forehead. "I worried that I didn't do enough. I really was at a loss for what to get you, what to do..."  
  
"Oh  _god_ , Sören." It pained her how he still tended to feel like he wasn't enough, didn't do enough, a product of constantly hearing he was worthless growing up. More than once she wondered how things would have been different if he'd grown up in Scotland or Australia with family who actually loved him, though it also meant their paths might not have crossed in Reykjavik. "You did more than enough. I love the tortoises."  
  
"I worried you'd think it was stupid, not practical..."  
  
"They're not that hard to take care of, and everyone needs a little whimsy in their lives - you showed me that." She kissed the tip of his nose. "And it's beautiful, that you remembered Copernicus, and that..." She swallowed hard, recalling the morning's conversation. "All this time."  
  
"All this time." Sören nodded, tears in his own eyes. "I was so worried you'd reject me, think I was confused, or would give you a disease -"  
  
"Meanwhile I'm over here telling you that for my next birthday I want to see you fuck another guy. Or get fucked by another guy. Or you know, both."  
  
Sören gave one of those full-bodied laughs that she loved so much, and she grinned at him through her tears. "I'm being serious, Sören."  
  
"Hi being serious -"  
  
Claire facepalmed, and then she bit his shoulder. Sören cried out at the pain of her teeth in him, and then he growled, and she felt herself starting again at the look in his eyes.  
  
"You know..." He drew her lower lip between his teeth, and kissed her hard.  
  
"I know." He was still inside her, and she rolled her hips again, another slow ride, lowering her face to seize a nipple between her teeth, moaning as he pulled her up to kiss once more, his fingers straying to her clit. When they pulled apart, breathing hard, she husked, "I hope you weren't planning on sleeping anytime soon."  
  
Sören grinned, and made a pretend, exaggerated yawn, still thrusting into her, and she gave his shoulder a playful swat, before he laughed and pulled her into another kiss.


	4. Come Undone

**Come Undone**

 

 _It is 1998. Fourteen-year-old Sören can feel him before he can see him - he can_  smell _him, the alcohol stench is overpowering, but Sören plays the maybe-if-I-ignore-him-he'll-go-away game, headphones blaring. He continues to sketch, though his heart is hammering in his ears, his mouth dry._  
  
Where figures from the past stand tall  
And mocking voices ring the halls  
Imperialistic house of prayer  
Conquistadors who took their share  
  
That keep calling me  
They keep calling me  
Keep on calling me  
They keep calling me  
  
_Einar comes over to the bed, snatches off the headphones and throws the Walkman to the floor. Sören knows Einar has probably broken it, and won't pay to replace it._  Fuck.  
  
_"Why are you in your room again?"  
  
Sören can't make words.  
  
"Why do you always stay in here, every afternoon, every evening? Nose in a book, or nose in this." He gestures to the sketchpad. "Why don't you play a sport like a real man?"  
  
Sören finds his words. "I have asthma. Also, I think I missed the memo about how having a cock obligates me to play a sport. Women play sports too, it's not just a man thing." A sneer. "I don't exactly see you out there playing a sport, unless you consider drinking a sport -"  
  
Einar backhands him. Sören starts to wheeze, and it becomes a full coughing fit when Einar snatches the sketchbook away from him, rips off the page Sören was working on, tears the picture in two and crumples it. Sören is coughing so hard he can't even protest. He pulls his inhaler out of his pocket, which feels like a herculean effort with how violently he's coughing, and then Einar rips that out of his hand, too. Sören points at it, gasping for breath.  
  
"You spend all your time doing this bullshit, it's why you're weak. You cry about how you don't have any friends, you get picked on, it's because you waste your time on nonsense like this - " Einar throws one of the crumpled balls of paper at him. "Rather than learning how to be a proper man." He throws the inhaler at Sören, and it falls on the floor; Sören has to get on the floor to retrieve it, and once he's on his knees Einar backhands him again. "Look at you on your knees. Pathetic."  
  
As Sören puffs on the inhaler, Einar looks at other pages of the sketchbook, scoffs at them. "You think you're going to be the next Van Gogh, or something? These are worthless. Ugly. Ugly and worthless." One by one he tears the pages off, crumples them. "Just like you. You're nothing. You're never going to amount to anything, not when you waste your time on this. _Art. _It's not art, it's trash. You're trash."  
  
"Stop it."  
  
"Stop it? You think you get to order me around, boy? Who puts a roof over your head, food in your mouth, and has since your bitch of a mother died? You know she thought she was too good for me? Wouldn't put out?"  
  
Sören is shaking with anger. "Don't talk about my mother like that."  
  
"She bought all that feminist garbage, so did your father, and even though you weren't that old when she died I can see she poisoned your head with it, emasculated you -"  
  
Something in Sören's head snaps. From his knees, Sören lunges, and Einar's hands grab his fists, then Einar knees Sören in the chest, knocking him to the floor, and stomps on his balls. Sören starts to cry, in physical pain, as well as emotional pain from Einar's words, the hopelessness of his situation.  
  
"There you go crying again. I'll give you something to cry about -" Einar unbuckles his belt and drags Sören back to his knees, yanking up his shirt. The belt hits him across his back -_  
  
  
Sören woke up with a shout, heart pounding.  
  
"Sören." Claire's voice, husky with sleep. Sören squinted at the clock, and the first light streaming through the curtains. Even with Claire being an early riser, this was too early. He'd woken her up.   
  
Her voice again. "Sören,  _elskan_ , it's OK." She was rubbing his back now.   
  
Sören fell apart, crying, and crying harder for being like this, even though Claire had never once judged him for crying, even though Sören rejected the kind of toxic masculinity that said "boys don't cry".  _Ten, eleven years later, and it still feels like yesterday. Whoever says "time heals all wounds" was a fucking liar because he still owns property in my head._  It wasn't the first time Sören had woken up from a nightmare in bed with Claire. It wasn't even the tenth or twentieth time. He knew it wouldn't be the last time.  
  
_I am so, so tired of this._  Especially with her recovery - though she was doing much better these days - he didn't like disrupting her rest. He, himself, was exhausted of playing roulette every time he went to sleep, not knowing if he'd have a nice erotic dream about Claire and/or a hot guy, or if his brain would decide to "rewatch an episode of PTSD Theatre", as he called it.  
  
His antidepressant medication only did so much. It was a volume control, not an off switch. Talk therapy was like re-opening old wounds, and there had been a lot of pressure on him to "forgive" his abusers and "not carry around anger", so he'd stopped. He found most days it was better to just keep himself distracted. That was how he coped.  
  
But in moments like this there was no distraction, only that feeling of being frozen in time, small and powerless all over again. Claire was petting him, rocking him, and Sören had the sense like he was floating outside his body, like somehow the present reality of Einar being back in Akureyri and him being here in bed with the woman he loved wasn't actually real.  
  
"It's OK, Sören. It's all right. I'm here. You're safe. You're safe with me. I've got you." She rained kisses over his face.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sören heard himself saying. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry -"  
  
"You have nothing to apologize for."  
  
"I woke you up."  
  
"So?" Claire gave him a stern look. "You didn't do anything wrong."  
  
"I do everything wrong." Sören started sobbing again.  
  
"Oh god, Sören. Sören, no. Don't say that. That's not true at all..."  
  
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."  
  
"Hi sorry."  
  
Now it was Sören's turn to give Claire a stern look. She kissed the tip of his nose and tweaked it. "Here, let me rub your back some, OK?"  
  
Sören rolled onto his stomach, and Claire began to rub his back. He knew, as he felt her hands on him, that it wasn't just to soothe him, but was a symbolic gesture of acceptance - his back was scarred from Einar's belt; he'd gotten the phoenixes on his back over the scars in the months following his suicide attempt. Claire had gone with him when he'd had the ink done. Her hands kneaded, soothing him, and her fingers brushed the outline of the birds, one fire, one water, tails entwined. Her fingers stroked the scars. She leaned down to kiss them, and Sören felt himself break again, sobbing into the pillow, this time because he was touched, grateful for her love for him. It was something he never took for granted.  
  
"That's all in the past now," Claire said, rubbing, kneading, stroking. "You're here, with me. I love you."  
  
"I love you."  
  
"It's going to be all right. We're starting a new life up here. A happy life."  
  
She rubbed his back some more, and finally she stopped and patted his shoulder. "I'm gonna pee, then let's go downstairs and have breakfast, OK?"  
  
When Sören didn't respond with the expected "hi gonna pee", she gave him a sad look. He watched her walk out of the bedroom, admiring her naked body, but feeling too upset as yet to react to it. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths and when she came in, she pulled on a bathrobe, and threw his at him, since the curtains were open downstairs.  
  
Sören changed the food and water in the tortoise tank, and when he came back in the kitchen, Claire had out two bowls, two spoons, a scoop, and a carton of ice cream. Sören raised an eyebrow at her.  
  
"We're going to have ice cream for breakfast," she said, pulling out a chair for him, "because we're fucking adults."  
  
Sören did manage a smile at that - she'd stolen his line from the occasional morning when they lived in London. Claire scooped ice cream into the bowls and sat down across from him. It was her turn to raise an eyebrow when she spooned ice cream into his mouth and he was still staring at his bowl.  
  
"Sören, are you still upset?"  
  
"Well, yes, but that's not it." Sören looked at the fresh fruit on the kitchen counter. "I feel like we ought to do  _something_  healthy, like... put a banana in it, or something."  
  
Then his mind finally went in the expected territory, and Claire caught it just before he could break into a grin; she facepalmed and groaned loudly, but was shaking with silent laughter.  
  
Sören got up, chopped up a banana, and added half the contents to Claire's bowl over her ice cream, and half to his. Then he got a second banana, and when he'd finished his ice cream with banana slices - Claire was still working on hers - he unpeeled the banana and stuck as much of it in his mouth as he could, not able to help himself, needing a distraction from earlier, and humor frequently worked. Claire almost choked, and once she'd swallowed, she shook with laughter again, beet red.  
  
Sören pulled the banana out of his mouth and wrapped his lips around just the tip, giving her a naughty look before he bit the tip off.  
  
"You're incorrigible," she told him.  
  
" _Takk._ "  
  
Sören continued to eat the banana - slowly, teasingly, working it in and out of his mouth like he was sucking a cock, making "mmmmmm" noises once the banana was almost gone. He enjoyed Claire's reaction, watching her get more and more flustered - it was just the distraction he needed. When her bowl was finished, Sören was on his last couple bites of banana, and couldn't resist giving her a wicked grin before he took a few licks at the banana before putting it back in his mouth to finish off.  
  
Claire got up, snatched his bowl away, and Sören continued grinning as Claire slammed the bowls down in the sink. His grin got even bigger when she came around the table and tugged the collar of his bathrobe. "You. Me. Upstairs.  _Now._ "  
  
She was practically dragging him. Halfway up the stairs, it registered and Sören said, "Wow, we're going pretty fast, you sure you're OK?"  
  
Claire shot him a look. When they got to the top of the stairs she kissed him hard, marching him backwards towards the bedroom. As soon as they stepped in the bedroom she yanked the robe off him, letting her own fall to the floor, and then she shoved him down on the bed. Sören propped himself up on an elbow, watching as Claire rummaged around in the bedtable drawer. His eyes widened as she pulled out one of Sören's toys - a curved glass dildo - and one of her own toys, a vibrator that was ergonomically designed so she could straddle it or lay with it between her legs and rub herself hands-free.  
  
"Here, you slut," she teased, holding the dildo to his mouth.  
  
She held onto it as he sucked, and the heat in her eyes, riveted, made him even harder. He reached down to touch himself and with her free hand she slapped his hand away. When the dildo was nice and wet she guided him back against the pillows, and Sören groaned as she took a few licks at the head of his cock, already dripping precum.  
  
He realized then what she was going to do. She didn't give him blowjobs often - he gave her oral much more than he received it, which was fine with him because he loved eating her and if there was one thing he absolutely had confidence about, it was his penis size, knowing he was not small, not wanting to cause her jaw pain, especially not after the accident. Getting head from Claire was an occasional treat, and most of the time it was in a sixty-nine. This morning was different - she wasn't in a sixty-nine position.  
  
"You want me to eat you while..."  
  
"Later, maybe. I want to be able to look at you while I do this, and watch you fall apart." She took another lick at the head of his cock. "You're so fucking hot."  
  
His cock leapt at that, throbbing, and she smiled as her lips wrapped around it. A moment later he heard the purr of her vibrator, watched her ass wiggle as he knew she was rubbing herself against it. She moaned with her mouth full, and he moaned at the feel of her mouth, and the sight of her body moving, knowing she was that turned on.  
  
She sucked him slowly, and could only get him partway in her mouth at first, using one hand to stroke the bottom of his shaft and play with his balls. Then, a few minutes into it, the fingers of her free hand slipped inside him, one, then two. It took her a few seconds to find the prostate, and when she did, he arched and cried out.  
  
She kept the pace slow with sucking and fingering, rubbing herself against the purring vibrator. Sören's moans got louder and louder, and at last, she withdrew her fingers and he let out a whimper of protest. She stopped sucking, took a few licks, gave him a wicked look, and then she started to push the dildo into him, an inch at a time.  
  
"Oh god."  
  
And then he was in her mouth again. Sucking slowly, fucking him slowly.  
  
"Oh god, Claire." His hands reached for her hair, rubbed her scalp. She let out an "mmmmmm" and he skritched her like a cat. She sucked him a little harder and faster.  
  
Soon he was rolling his hips gently, and she turned up the setting on her vibrator, buzzing louder, her ass wiggling harder. She kept him on that edge, eyes never leaving him as he panted, gasped, moaned, whimpered, cried out, bucking his hips, the pleasure more and more intense. Finally he grabbed her hair and belted out, "Claire, fuck me."  
  
She worked the dildo in and out of him hard, and bobbed up and down on his cock, sucking him hard, wet slurping noises. Sören felt his balls tightening, felt himself rushing towards orgasm, trying to hold back just a little more, savoring the rhythm on his prostate, the sucking around his head, his shaft, it was too good...  
  
He was starting to be overtaken, less and less able to hold back. It was like being at a volcano just before it was about to erupt, knowing what was about to happen, but still surprised by the sheer force of it anyway. Their eyes met and he cried out, " _Claire,_ " and she gave another "mmmmm" as he flooded her mouth... then her eyes widened and the "mmmm" became a high-pitched whimper, as she stopped rubbing against the vibrator. She swallowed, and was panting when she pulled him out of her mouth, her hands shaking as she reached to turn off the vibrator. "Oh, fuck," she gasped.  
  
"You came?"  
  
Claire nodded. "Right when you did."  
  
"It turned you on that much?"  
  
"You turn me on, Sören. Yes."  
  
She came up to kiss him, and he groaned with satisfaction as he tasted himself on her.  
  
She lay against his chest for a little while, and he stroked her hair as they came down from their orgasm. They shared a last few tender little kisses, noses rubbing, before Claire got up, and Sören watched her change.  
  
"You have plans?" Sören asked.  
  
"Not really, but I thought I'd take the car and run a couple errands, like grocery shopping. Maybe even go for a little walk."  
  
It was the first time since her accident that she'd be going by herself. At Sören's look of concern, Claire said, "I'll be driving where I'm going and won't be on foot terribly long, but yes, I can do this. And I  _need_  to do this, not just to prove to myself - and you - that I can, but I also need to start exploring our new home, get a feel for what's around here. It was one thing to visit St. Andrews to see Gitta and Jane when we were living in London, it's another thing to live here now."  
  
"Jæja, I'm sorry, I know I worry too much." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls.  
  
"You do, but I understand why you do."  
  
"Take your cell phone."  
  
"I will."  
  
  
_  
  
While Claire was out, Sören painted, working on the finishing touches of his painting of the two of them, nude, laying on their side in a sensual pose - Sören's lips grazing her neck, an arm around her, fingers straying to her mound, his cock visible and hard for her, dripping precum. Claire was wearing the butterfly mask of Psyche from myth, with butterflies floating around them as they lay on a cloud - dark storm clouds around them, their own cloud tinged with golden light, piercing other storm clouds. The butterflies all had stars, galaxies, and nebulas in their wings.  
  
The painting had technically been done for a couple of days now, but Sören kept fussing with it, adjusting the flow of light and the subtleties of shading in the clouds. After working at it some more, he finally put the paintbrush down, and decided  _I need to stop messing with it. This is as good as it's going to get._  
  
And that bothered him. He knew that Claire would probably like it, so would other people, and if it was painted by someone else he'd think they had done a very fine job, that it was a gorgeous piece of art. But he couldn't escape the nagging feeling like it wasn't quite done, that there was something missing, and he didn't know  _what_. It was why the painting hadn't been ready for her birthday - even though that had been his original intent - and he'd kept poking at it since then. Enough was enough, but it still wasn't enough.  
  
_Nothing is ever enough._  
  
It wasn't the first time that Sören had felt angst upon completing a painting. Sometimes, when he worked on longer projects, he'd actually cry when it was over, not understanding why. But this, he understood. It was that feeling of inadequacy, that even when he'd painted what he wanted to paint and other people found it more than acceptable, he felt like he hadn't done it justice in the translation of the visions burning in his mind's eye, and what he was able to bring to the canvas.  
  
He'd felt it before, and it was something he could usually work past. Today he remembered the dream of his uncle Einar, reliving Einar destroying his work - not the first time, not the last time. When he'd dropped out of med school after his suicide attempt and taken up painting, he remembered the wealthy patron he was briefly involved with, and the admission at the end:  _You're a rank amateur. Your arse interests me much more than your art._  
  
Sören broke down sobbing, fighting the urge to throw his own painting across the room, not doing it because it wasn't just his, it was Claire's. He lay on the nest in the corner of the studio in the fetal position, and Claire found him like that when she came upstairs. She knelt beside him, petting him.  
  
"Sören. What is it?"  
  
He pointed to the canvas. "That."  
  
Claire looked at it and gasped. "Sören. That's..." Her breath caught. "That's gorgeous." She got up and walked to it, studying it. "I'm probably biased, but this is your best work, and you've done some amazing pieces. It looks almost photorealistic, which is something you've achieved many times before, but this is like..." She sighed. "It draws you in. I can almost  _feel_  the warmth of the light, looking at it."  
  
"And see, I feel like I did a shitty job."  
  
Her eyes widened with shock. " _What?_ " She went back over to him, giving him a stern look. "Sören, no.  _No._ " She started shaking him a little. "That's Einar talking."  
  
"I mean, I spent days, so many hours, working on that and I still don't feel like I got it right, between what I saw in my head and what came out, and..." Sören rubbed his face and sniffed. "Something else belongs there and I don't even know  _what_  -"  
  
"I don't know, I think it looks pretty amazing as-is."  
  
"But..." Sören let out a sob, feeling ashamed that he was being like this over his art. "People are dying, and I'm laying here getting all worked up over this shit, crying. God, no wonder Einar used to yell at me for crying so much -"  
  
" _Sören._ "  
  
" - and it's over  _nothing._  Literally, nothing. I  _paint_  for a living instead of working a real job -"  
  
"People buy your paintings."  
  
"What if they weren't selling? Would you still think it was worthwhile?"  
  
" _Yes._ " Claire's eyes challenged his. "I would."  
  
"You say that now, but we have money right now. What happens if that money runs out?"  
  
"It won't run out for some time, and you'll probably sell some more paintings before then, and if not, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But I don't ever want you to think that you painting is not 'a real job'. Because it is. It is  _to me._ "  
  
Sören cried onto her shoulder. She pet his curls, kissed the top of his head.  
  
"You could do better than me," Sören said. "You deserve better than me. I mean, you were a barrister -"  
  
"For fuck's sake." She grabbed his chin and gave him another stern look. "You know how miserable I was in that job. How unhealthy I was, starving myself, not just physically, but for real connection with people, for doing the things I used to love doing before work ate my life. I worked so hard for everything I thought I wanted, except it turned out to be the opposite of what I wanted when I got there, and looking back? I feel like I've wasted  _my_  life. Those were years I could have spent doing something else rather than pushing myself to have 'a real job' and be 'successful' and all the lies this world tells us. And even if I was happy being a barrister and doing that still? You don't get to tell me I could do better, that I deserve better. I chose you. I chose you all the way back in 2003, when we met in Iceland and I fell in love with you, then. And the years have only made me more in love with you."  
  
"Dammit, Claire." Sören broke again, a fresh torrent of tears.  
  
Claire rocked him and rocked him, petting him, making soothing noises.  
  
When his tears subsided, Claire got up and came back with tissues, wiping his nose like he was a big kid. "Now," she said, "come downstairs, I'll make dinner. I wanted to make cheese on toast tonight for you anyway, since I know that's your favorite, with soup."  
  
"You're too good to me."  
  
"No, I'm not. You deserve all the good things."  
  
Sören watched the tortoises as Claire cooked in the kitchen; dinner didn't take long. They ate together in companionable silence, and then they curled up on the couch, watching  _The Fellowship of the Ring_  on DVD.  
  
"I should really re-read that," Sören said.  
  
"You should. Though you said you were going to read my copy of  _The Silmarillion._ "  
  
"Oh, I did. Derp." Sören rubbed his face. "Kinda got lost with painting..."  
  
"I know. You're consumed by it. Which is another sign that, you know, you don't suck."  
  
Their minds both went into the gutter at that, and Sören felt mischievous again. He got up, went to the kitchen, and returned with an orange creamsicle. Claire tried to watch the movie, but her eyes kept wandering back to Sören's lips wrapped around the frozen confection, sucking it slowly.  
  
Sören couldn't help the smile as he heard Claire's breath hitch. "You know..."  
  
"I know." Sören grinned and gave the creamsicle a few licks before popping it back in his mouth. When the creamsicle was gone and there was a little left on his tongue, he kissed her with it, and she groaned into the kiss. "You keep talking about wanting to share me with another man... now imagine if that was his cum..."  
  
Claire kissed him back hard, and shoved him down on the couch. They spent the rest of the movie making out on the couch, and when the credits rolled, Sören pulled back Claire's blouse and drew her breast out of the bra cup, taking her nipple into his mouth. He was painfully hard, straining against his jeans, and he moaned as she palmed the bulge in his jeans.  
  
When he was done licking and suckling her nipple, she got up from the couch, and he did too. He followed her upstairs. They undressed each other, clothes pooling on the floor, and went to the bathroom to shower together. Under the water Sören felt himself crying again, and Claire held him. "Wash this morning away,  _elskan_ ," she said, rocking and petting him some more. "Let it out."  
  
After they had lathered and rinsed, they kissed under the shower, Sören calmer, and the kisses became more passionate, a return to the fevered mood that had brought them upstairs. They practically chased to the bedroom, naked, giggling. Sören pounced on the bed and pulled Claire on the bed with him, and she climbed over him, pushing him back down on the pillows. They held each other for a moment, looking into each other's eyes, before Claire leaned in to kiss him deep and hungry.  
  
"You know what you need?" she asked, finally.  
  
"What."  
  
"To let go. I don't mean in the bullshit sense that therapist told you. I mean to just... completely get out of your head for awhile."  
  
Sören smirked. "Sounds like you have something in mind."  
  
"Yeah." Claire kissed him again. "Something we haven't done since before the accident."  
  
Sören's eyes widened when she stole another kiss, and he kissed her back, hard.  
  
They kept a pair of black silk scarves in the bedtable drawer, even though it had been several months. Claire pulled them out now, kissing Sören as she tied one of his wrists to the headboard, then the other.  
  
When he was bound, she proceeded to kiss and lick him all over, from his neck down to his ankles and back up. She lingered at his nipples, his stomach, his hips, his thighs, behind the knee. Her fingers wandered over him, she rubbed her cheek, her nose against his skin, planting soft little kisses before more sensual ones. Sören moaned louder and louder, already transported far away from his problems, into the fire of passion, and she had only just begun. When every inch of the front of his body had felt her mouth, she came up to kiss him, and he moaned again as he felt her rubbing against his thigh, slick.  
  
"Oh, you like that, do you?"  
  
"I love feeling how wet you get."  
  
"That's good, because I'm going to mark you as mine now."  
  
With that, Claire rose up, and straddled his shoulder. Sören trembled, feeling like he was losing her mind as he watched and felt her rub all over him, from one shoulder to the other, over his chest - the sight and feel of her spreading her folds, her clit rubbing his nipple threatened to set him off to climax right then - and then down to his stomach. Down one hip and thigh and calf, and back up the other. He writhed against the restraints, helpless to her, and she reveled in teasing him, a wicked grin on her face, her fingers slowly walking over his body.  
  
At last she sat over his face, hovering just out of reach, opening his mouth and letting herself drip onto his tongue. When she sank down, he ate her with a hunger that surprised even him, bringing her off quickly, and again, and again.  
  
"We need to take care of you too," she rasped just before he could start eating her for a fourth round. She got up, and Sören made a whimper of protest. He watched her open the drawer up again, expecting her to pull out the toy she used on him this morning, or perhaps the double dildo they shared on occasion... and instead, out came the strap-on.  
  
"Oh my fucking  _god._ " Sören threw his head back and laughed, delighted.  
  
He watched her put it on. There was an attachment that would stimulate her clit and G-spot when she thrust, and she'd been able to orgasm using it before. She took out the lube, but first, she straddled his shoulders again. He obediently took her cock into his mouth.  
  
"That's a good boy." She stroked his hair and face. Sören let out a little whimper, his cock throbbing at that. She knew he had a praise kink, and she smiled as she continued. "Such a good boy. I love watching you suck cock, I can't wait to watch you suck a real one."  
  
Sören gave another whimper again, hardening further at the idea.  
  
"Get that cock nice and wet so I can give you the fucking you deserve," she said.  
  
He loved it when she talked like this to him, showing her wild side. She grabbed his hair, fucking his mouth, and he whimpered again, sucking even more enthusiastically, begging with his eyes.  
  
When the dildo was glistening from his mouth, she coated it with lube, and then her fingers, working her fingers inside him as her other hand gently stroked his cock.  
  
"God, Claire." Sören shivered.  
  
"You want it?"  
  
"So bad."  
  
She took him slowly - even though he was open from the play this morning, the strap-on attachment was a bit bigger. When she was all the way in she rested a moment, and then she started to work her hips, thrusting into him, a good moderate pace. Sören cried out, bucking back at her.  
  
"Good?"  
  
" _Yes._ "  
  
"God." Claire shuddered. "I love watching you take this cock. Want to watch you take a real one, just like this..."  
  
"Oh,  _fuck..._ "  
  
"Someone who wants to fuck you as badly as I do. Who loves it as much as I do."  
  
"Oh god." Sören was panting, gasping, rolling his hips in time with her thrusts. "Oh god, Claire, fuck me..."  
  
She began to thrust harder, playing with his cock as she did. Sören loved watching her fuck him, her breasts bouncing, nipples hard with arousal. Soon she was pounding away, Sören not able to make words, only animal noises, and Claire was moaning too, panting, trembling. Finally his legs were on her shoulders and she gave it to him as hard as she could, Sören screaming in Icelandic as he was undone, nothing existing except this, sensation, passion, lust, bottomless hunger, needing to be taken, claimed, fucked,  _hers_.  
  
"Almost there," Claire hissed, shaking.  
  
"Ohgod. Ohgodohgodohgod Claire...  _Claire_..."  
  
"Come all over me,  _elskan_."  
  
He did, and a few thrusts later she came with a cry. She slipped out of him and lay on top of him, reaching to unbind his wrists. He flexed his wrists and she took his hands, kissing him deeply.  
  
"How was that?" she purred, stroking his face.  
  
"That was  _hot._ " Sören kissed her again. "You. Were hot."  
  
She played with one of his nipples. "You think you have it in you to go again?"  
  
"Probably." He hardened at her tongue lapping his nipple. "Definitely."  
  
"Good." She took off the strap-on, and straddled his hips. They both cried out when he was inside her.  
  
She was as hot and wet as he'd ever felt, and he loved it. His hands went to her hips, guiding them as she rode him hard. Then his hands roamed over her, and as they got close, one settled on a breast and the other at her clit, rubbing the way she liked it. "Oh god, Sören," she panted. "Oh fuck... just like that..."  
  
They came together, screaming. Giggling as they collapsed together, rocking each other, lost in euphoria. "I love you," Sören said, arms tight around her. "I love you so much..."  
  
"I know." She kissed him gently. "I love you too. A whole lot." She stroked his face. "I wish you loved yourself more."  
  
Tears came to his eyes. He didn't know what to say to that.  
  
She pulled him close, letting him feel her heartbeat. "I love you enough for the both of us, Sören."  
  
And he heard himself say, "I know."  
  
She lifted his chin up, looked into his eyes, and he repeated, "I know." He leaned in to kiss her forehead, and spoke the truth. "My heart knows. It's why I trust you more than I've ever trusted anybody." He took her hand, put it on his heart. "I trust you with my life."  
  
And unspoken, the words came to him.  _I want the rest of my life to be with you._  
  
  
_  
  
  
The next morning, Claire wanted to do some chores - again, without Sören's help, wanting to push herself. He knew that if he hung around the house he'd be tempted to check up on her and that would just annoy her and defeat the purpose of her pushing herself, and he wasn't yet feeling another vision to paint. So he took the Vauxhall for a drive, not really knowing where he was going.  
  
Except he did, as he pulled into a jeweler's in Dundee.  
  
Sören was aware he was being watched by the bespectacled, balding old man who presumably owned the place, as he browsed the display of engagement rings. They were all nice, but none of them were really what he wanted, or more importantly, what Claire would want. She was not a white diamonds girl.  
  
Finally the man walked over to the counter, as Sören shuffled his weight awkwardly from one foot to another. He took a moment as if sizing him up, and Sören knew the man probably thought he couldn't afford anything on display, with his obvious foreign accent and dressed as he was in jeans, a Metallica T-shirt, and Doc Martens, the tattoos visible on his arms, earrings visible in his ears.  
  
"What can I do for you, laddie?" the man asked, finally.  
  
"Right, so the engagement rings. They're very nice, but do you have something different?"  
  
"You mean something less expensive?"  
  
Sören fought back the smirk.  _Called it._  "No. I mean something different. You have anything that's... more impressive?"  
  
The man almost spluttered at that, and Sören fought  _really_  hard to suppress the grin. He brought Sören over to another display. "Well, this has sapphire with a circlet of diamonds... this has a very large sapphire..."  
  
"Can I get a closer look?"  
  
The man took the tray out and Sören studied the cut of the stones, and some of the rings had subtle patterns etched in the metal. Sören finally said, "Did you make these?"  
  
"Aye, I did."  
  
"Do you take custom work."  
  
The man's eyebrow shot up at that. "I do, but it'll cost you -"  
  
Sören waved his hand. "I'm not worried about that."  
  
"What did you have in mind?"  
  
Sören thought of the painting, the light through clouds, what Claire liked in stones, while still wanting to keep some semblance of tradition. After thinking for a few minutes, noticing the man was growing impatient, he said, "For the centerpiece, a golden flash labradorite, vertical oval, flanked by two round Baltic amber stones, honey amber preferred. And a few small champagne diamonds between the labradorite and the amber, like... six.  Six little champagne diamonds, three on each side, curving between, like an embrace. Set in white gold, braided so it looks like endless figure eights. Can you do that?"  
  
"I can do that. It's not a traditional engagement ring -"  
  
_No shit, Sherlock._  "She's not a traditional girl. We're not a traditional couple."  _She wants me to fuck another guy._  
  
"My time is money, Mr..."  
  
"Sigurdsson. Sören. Call me Sören, I'm Icelandic and my surname's a patronymic." He got tired of explaining this to people in the UK, but accepted it as a part of life.  
  
"All right. My time is money, like I said -"  
  
"How long do you think it will take?"  
  
"About a month."  
  
"Quote me."  
  
He did.  
  
"Make it a fortnight and I'll pay you double," Sören said.  
  
The man's jaw dropped. He stood there staring at Sören until Sören finally said, "Yes?"  
  
"Y-yes, sir -"  
  
Sören shook his hand. "Credit?" He pulled out his wallet.


	5. Sail Away

**Sail Away**

 

"Claire? You wanna come look at..."  
  
Sören found her sitting in front of her laptop, face buried in her hands, shaking with silent tears. Sören went right to her and put an arm around her. "Claire,  _elskan_. Is something wrong?"  
  
Claire took her face out of her hands. "No. It's not."  
  
Sören gave her a confused look.  
  
Claire laughed - cried, and laughed - and patted him. "You remember how you told me I should try to get back in touch with Lucy and Puneet, my friends from school who I fell out of touch with?"  
  
"Jæja, I do."  
  
"Well..." Claire looked over at her laptop and nodded. "I just chatted with them in a group chat."  
  
"Oh, Claire." Sören threw his arms around her and hugged her tight.  
  
Claire sobbed into him. It had been bittersweet - the shame of having fallen out of touch in the first place, the regret of all the little moments and big milestones that she'd missed in their lives, and they in hers. Realizing Puneet and Lucy likely would have been of help when she was navigating her complicated feelings for Sören, possibly pushing her to confess her feelings to him sooner, getting together sooner, though Claire couldn't say she regretted how the big defining moment of their relationship transpired. She was also very happy for them where they were at in their lives, and likewise they in turn were happy for her, that she'd gotten out of the toxic professional world of London and was living a more quiet, simple life now with the man she loved.  
  
_I can tell this is really serious,_  Puneet had said.  
  
_Yeah, it is. I think I want to marry him,_  Claire had replied.  
  
_Why don't you pop the question?_  Lucy asked.  
  
Claire had blanched at that.  _Usually it's the guy who does that, and what if he turns it down..._  
  
_It's 2009,_  Puneet told her.  _Maybe he's shy about it and you'd have to ask him._  
  
Claire was still on the fence about whether or not asking him was a good idea - she'd mull it over for a couple of weeks. In the meantime Sören was here now, and he'd been so wonderfully supportive. He was sensitive, and still self-conscious about how sensitive he was, but his sensitivity was his source of strength. His strong, deep emotions were a consuming fire, and that fire gave light to everyone in his life.  
  
Too few people in his life. "You need friends, too." She pet his curls.  
  
Sören shrugged. He quickly changed the subject back to Lucy and Puneet. "You should get together with them. I don't mind if you want to invite them up here to visit..."  
  
Claire laughed - still crying, enough that Sören passed her the box of tissues. "One thing at a time, Sören. I only  _just_  got back in touch with them a couple hours ago."  
  
"And I bet it felt like you'd never been out of touch at all, right?"  
  
Claire nodded. That had been a relief - they not only weren't angry at her, understanding she'd likely been dealing with some mental health issues with university and her job, but they had fallen right back into that old closeness, the feeling of that magic circle that had been with them in school, and was there again across the kilometers.  
  
They continued to hold each other on the couch for a few minutes, until Claire's tears had subsided some, and then Claire stroked Sören's face and asked, "What did you want me to come look at?"  
  
Sören got up, and pulled Claire to her feet. She followed him upstairs to the studio room.  
  
He'd started a seascape - Claire recognized the beach from their walks there.  
  
"It's not done yet, it's a work in progress..."  
  
Claire raised an eyebrow. "It's still gorgeous. All the subtle shading in the water..."  
  
"It's not done," Sören insisted. "It needs something. I don't know what, but it needs... something."  
  
Claire patted him. He got like this, and it usually meant he would add a few details, sometimes even a person or two, once he saw it in his mind's eye. He painted magical realism, as if he could somehow see or sense the hidden power in people, places, and things, the extraordinary in the ordinary. One of Claire's favorite pieces that Sören had done was from a trip they'd taken to Avebury, where he'd painted the barrow chamber being exited by a warrior with a giant red-eared dog, and the warrior had a knee-length flood of long white hair, eyes so light grey they were almost white, daggers at his waist. It was like being transported into another time, another  _dimension_ , looking at it. The painting had sold for five times its asking price to someone buying on behalf of "a collector who wishes to remain anonymous" - it had clearly resonated with someone else. Claire remembered how Sören had fussed over it, and his attention to detail and needing to get it  _just right_  had produced masterpieces like that. She was very curious now to see what he'd end up doing to the seascape, and had a feeling that it was going to rival the painting of the warrior at Avebury in time.  
  
Sören's focus shifted from the canvas on his easel to a canvas wrapped in clear plastic on the floor - specifically, the painting he'd done of himself and Claire. He pulled it out of the plastic now and held it up to take a better look at it. Claire looked at it with him.  
  
"I still love that," she said, putting a hand on his arm.  
  
"Jæja, I think enough time has passed now where I can stop looking at that so critically and just... enjoy it." The way Sören was smiling as he said those last two words, his eyes fixed on where Claire's bare breasts were in the painting, made Claire laugh and roll her eyes, giving him a playful swat on the bum.  
  
"This should be hung somewhere, finally," Sören said, a bit more sober.  
  
Claire couldn't resist. "It's hung, all right."  
  
Sören snorted, blushing. "Usually I'm the one to make sex jokes..."  
  
"Hi the one to make sex jokes..."  
  
Claire took a few sprints away from him as he made a mock lunge, both of them laughing, and then Claire realized how quickly she'd moved and she started to cry.  _It's happening..._  
  
"Claire.  _Elskan._ " Sören gave her a concerned look. "What is it?"  
  
"It's..." Claire gestured to her legs. "You saw me. Just now."  
  
"Jæja, I did." Sören gave a small nod, and there were tears in his eyes too.  
  
"I ran, a little. Just a little, but still, Sören, I ran. My body is really recovering. I'm getting better..."  
  
"Hi, getting better."  
  
Claire picked up a pillow from the nest in the studio and hurled it at him. The next thing she knew she and Sören were rolling around on the nest, smacking each other with pillows, tickling, before kissing passionately, and then, both falling apart together, Sören crying with her. She could feel his own joy in her continued recovery, and the anguish at how brutal that recovery had been, back when there were real concerns about if she'd ever walk again, never mind this...  
  
"Did you tell Lucy and Puneet about..."  
  
"The accident?" Claire nodded. "Well, Puneet had heard about it on the news, actually. She said she'd thought about calling while I was in hospital but didn't know if it would be welcome or not..." And Claire wept afresh, wishing with all her heart she'd never lost touch with them in the first place.  
  
Sören planted a soft, gentle kiss on her brow. His fingers lovingly traced the scar near the top of her forehead that was usually hidden by her hair. His fingers traced over the scar on her neck. "I should have told you to call them back then..."  
  
"I wouldn't have wanted them to see me all... you know." Claire swallowed hard. "It was difficult enough for you and Harrison to see me like that, never mind..."  
  
"Oh, Claire." He pulled her close and rocked her. "I kept telling you, I wanted to be there for you. And I'm guessing they would have liked to be there for you too."  
  
Claire nodded, crying some more.  
  
When they calmed down a little, Claire stretched. She felt wrung out, and some fresh air would do her some good. Fresh air and... another recovery milestone.  
  
"Right," she said to herself. She looked at Sören. "Sören, I'm going to go for a walk -"  
  
"Hi going to go for -"  
  
Claire tweaked his nose, and Sören cackled, and she gave him a mock glare before sitting up, then slowly pulling herself up.  
  
"So, do you want some company?" Sören asked.  
  
"Not this time. I need to be able to take a walk by myself, to prove that I can, if that makes sense at all."  
  
"It does. Are you sure...?"  
  
"Sören, I wouldn't be planning on this if I wasn't sure."  
  
"OK." He narrowed his eyes with concern. "Worrying is a force of habit, you know."  
  
"I know." He'd been there when she'd overestimated her capabilities and taken a spill, or suddenly got weak and needed to sit down. But as much as she enjoyed spending time with him, they couldn't be attached at the hip twenty-four hours a day, with him hovering in case she needed his assistance. Especially now when she was showing signs of getting better and better all the time.  
  
"Take your cell phone and call me if you need me to pick you up -"  
  
"Yes, Mother."  
  
Sören snickered. "Now there's a concept, me giving birth."  
  
Claire found that thought strangely appealing, and decided she better go before she got tempted to stay here and shag all afternoon. She went to take her phone off the charger and started to head downstairs, with Sören following her.  
  
"For my own peace of mind, do you know where you're going...?"  
  
"Around." Claire smiled. "But probably at least one of the routes is the shore, where that musician plays."  
  
"Oh, OK. Well, have fun."  
  
"You too." Claire raised an eyebrow. "Anything exciting planned?"  
  
Sören laughed, blushing. "Nah, I think I'm gonna hang up that painting of us, maybe read for awhile, or something. You gonna be gone awhile? You want me to take care of dinner tonight?"  
  
"I'll probably be gone at least an hour, though I don't want to be walking much past two hours without taking a rest, so likely I'll be home in two hours before we need to worry about dinner. Though, I may well be sore from the exertion so I won't say no to you handling dinner tonight."  
  
"All right. Might run to the store then, too." He kissed the tip of her nose.  
  
"Kay." She patted him. "No fermented shark," she teased.  
  
"What about deep-fried fermented shark?" Sören grinned. "With cheese?"  
  
She swatted his bum again, Sören gave a throaty growl, and gasping with laughter she made herself get out before she could throw him on the floor and ride him into the sunset.  
  
  
_  
  
  
She was back an hour and forty minutes later. She'd managed to walk without incident, though the last fifteen minutes of the walk had been difficult enough that she'd been tempted to sit down. She made herself push through, step by step, and now when she staggered through the doorway, her entire body screaming for rest, Sören went right over to her and led her to the couch.  
  
"I worried you'd overdo it," Sören said, dropping to his knees to take off her shoes, then he maneuvered her legs so she was sprawled on the couch. He started to rub her feet, which felt amazing after the walk.  
  
"Well, I might have overdone it, but I did it." Claire gave a weak thumbs up. "I fucking did it."  
  
"You didn't sit down...?"  
  
Claire shook her head. "I did have to slow down a few times and take little breaks standing up, but nothing more than a couple minutes. I told you, Sören, I needed to prove to myself that I could do this. And I did."  
  
"I'm proud of you. Though, there's a medium balance somewhere between taking it easy and overdoing it." Sören gave her a stern look.  
  
"Probably." Claire narrowed her eyes. "Not that you should talk, Mr. Stays Awake For Three Days Painting."  
  
"Touché."  
  
"Yes, your tush-ay is very nice." Claire grinned.  
  
Sören grinned back, and rubbed her foot harder.  
  
"Oh, god." Claire moaned.  
  
Sören bit his lower lip - Claire knew that moan was making him think of sex, which she was too exhausted for right this minute but maybe later when she'd had some time to rest... she could almost see the cogs and gears turning in his head, thinking of what he'd do to her later. She grinned at him again, and then let out another moan as his skilled fingers hit another good spot on her aching, throbbing foot, making her melt.  
  
"I've got steaks marinating," Sören told her, continuing to rub. "I thought meat would be nice after your body had been working so hard."  
  
Predictably, his mind went into the gutter at his own words and he stifled a laugh, not able to stifle it when she noticed and rolled her eyes.  
  
"Yes, I could go for some meat later," Claire told him, the double entendre intentional, amused by his blush. "Honestly, I pushed so hard I could eat two steaks."  
  
"Did you see that guy, by the way?"  
  
"He wasn't there today." Claire frowned. She'd been hoping to enjoy his music for awhile, as a little reward for her walk.  
  
"Awww, too bad. Well, maybe we'll run into him again soon."  
  
Sören made her have a sports drink to rehydrate, which he got up and brought to her, and after she'd sat up to drink half of it - usually she didn't care for the stuff, but she was so parched from the exertion that it tasted divine - she flomped back down and Sören resumed rubbing her feet. Soon he was rubbing her legs, and the magic of his hands made her not simply melt, but start to doze off.  
  
When she woke up, the heavenly aroma of the cooking steak and whatever he was making with it, permeated the house. Claire groaned and reached for the sports drink on the coffee table, sitting up to finish it off. Sören looked up from  _The Fellowship of the Ring_  - he was revisiting the  _Lord of the Rings_  book trilogy as a way of easing himself into the  _Silmarillion_.  
  
Sören had made herbed fingerling potatoes and garlic-seasoned roasted squash and greens to go with the steak, which would have been delicious any other night, and tonight was an especially nice touch. Claire ate with gusto, which pleased Sören, satisfied that she appreciated his cooking.  
  
When the meal was done, Sören insisted, "I'll do the dishes. I know you want to push yourself, but you already did enough of that today."  
  
Claire didn't protest.  
  
They cuddled on the couch after dinner, watching  _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ , which inevitably made Claire think of Gitta and Jane's cats.  _We should get a cat,_  Claire thought to herself.  _Maybe even two cats._  The four cats that Gitta and Jane owned seemed a bit excessive for their lifestyle, but two four-legged children with fur felt just right...  
  
_Two children._  Claire felt that sharp ache in her. She didn't just want to own turtles and cats with Sören, she wanted his babies. Once upon a time, motherhood hadn't even been a consideration, she'd been after a career, her ambitions looked incompatible with family... but now...  
  
Sören looked lost in space, as if he were focusing on something other than the program. She knew from all these years that his mind was often both there and elsewhere, contemplating the mysteries of the world, visions that he tried to express with a brush, effing the ineffable...  
  
He was a dreamer, and he was  _her_  dreamer. She started to massage his scalp, the way he'd rubbed her feet and legs on the couch that afternoon.  
  
"Mmmm, that's nice." Sören closed his eyes, and she admired his beautiful long lashes, the sweet little smile as she rubbed his head through his curls.  
  
_Fuck, I want you._  Claire planted a kiss at the top of his head, and when Sören tilted his face to hers, her lips brushed his. Except what was meant to be a sweet, gentle kiss deepened, their mouths parting, tongues sliding together, and they both groaned into the kiss. Claire felt her nipples straining through her bra against her blouse, aching for his touch. His tongue.  
  
They pulled apart, breathing hard, Sören's pupils blown wide, and Claire expected him to grab her face with his hands and pull her in for another kiss, feverish, as he'd done so many times before, but instead he got a cryptic little smile on his face, poked the tip of her nose, and said, "Hold that thought."  
  
Sören got up and ran upstairs - she heard him curse in Icelandic and take a few puffs on his inhaler when he got to the top, and shook her head, laughing to himself.  _He says I overdo it and he's a horrible influence._  
  
Every nerve in Claire's body was screaming for sexual release - an orgasm would be  _wonderful_  to relax the tension in her sore muscles - and before she could climb the walls waiting for Sören with whatever the hell he had planned, she distracted herself by giving fresh water and produce to Copernicus and Moriel, sitting in front of their habitat while she watched them drink and nibble on the food. She still couldn't get over how small and cute they were, and the gesture of a living reminder of the moment where Sören had fallen in love with her years ago, given to her on her birthday. Remembering again how long these tortoises would live, that it was a necessary commitment to the long term...  
  
...realizing it was a way of telling her  _yes, I want this for life_.  
  
Her eyes misted up, and before she could give way to another flood of emotion she heard Sören call down, "OH CLAI-IRE..."  
  
Claire got up and headed upstairs. Sören wasn't in the bedroom - though that was where the painting of them was hanging, above the bed, which seemed like the perfect place for it. Sören let out a whistle, and Claire heard it from the bathroom.  
  
She came in and the bathroom had been set up with candles, and there was a wonderfully fragrant bubble bath - she smelled lavender and rose. Sören was standing there in his boxer-briefs, half-hard, looking at her expectantly.  
  
She shucked her clothing, he pulled off his underwear, and once it was in the laundry hamper he took her hand and they climbed in the bathtub together. Claire sighed as the hot water hit her sore muscles and the scent enfolded her, giggling as a bubble floated up and popped on her nose.  
  
"I put some epsom salts in this," Sören said. "Thought that would be nice..."  
  
"You sweetheart."  
  
"That's not all." Sören reached up to a remote control sitting on the sink counter, and it turned on a small stereo player Sören had parked near the bathroom door. Enya came on. "Here. Welcome to my spa."  
  
"Mmmmmm." Claire sank down into the water, sloshing around. "You really are thoughtful."  
  
"Jæja, I'm full of... thoughts." Sören's face lit up with a mischievous grin, and Claire saw he was ogling her breasts.  
  
She splashed him.  
  
For awhile they just relaxed together in the heat and bubbles, candles glowing, Enya playing in the background. When "Orinoco Flow" came on, Sören responded to the " _Sail away, sail away, sail away_ " chorus by holding out his arms and quoting the "I'M SAILING" line from  _What About Bob_.  
  
Claire couldn't resist. "Hi sailing..."  
  
Now it was Sören's turn to splash Claire, who giggled and splashed him back.  
  
They splashed each other some more, until a big splash got Sören's face and hair completely drenched and he made a face so grumpy that Claire couldn't help doubling over, tearing up in a gigglefit, sides splitting. She laughed harder when Sören opened his eyes, narrowed in a fearsome scowl.  
  
"Oops," Claire said.  
  
Sören blew a raspberry at her.  
  
Claire laughed some more. "What are we, five?"  
  
"I guess so." Sören scooped some bubbles onto his hand and blew them into the air. "Yay bubbles..." He clapped like a little kid, making Claire laugh again.  
  
"Jesus, Sören."  
  
"I gotta say though... having some pretty adult feelings." Sören waggled his eyebrows.  
  
"Oh, are you?" Claire positioned herself so he could get a better look at her breasts. "Can't imagine why..."  
  
"No, me either." Sören put one of her legs on his shoulder and started rubbing her foot again, and when Claire let out a moan Sören sighed, which in turn got her thinking certain thoughts.  
  
She melted into his touch, his hands rubbing from her foot to her calf, and then slid up her thigh. Claire's breath hitched, and again when his hand found its way to her stomach, rubbing in slow, lazy circles, giving her a knowing look.  
  
He came closer, and pulled her to him. He kissed her neck and shoulder as his fingers trailed lower, as her hand grasped his and guided it lower, to where she really wanted to be touched. Their mouths met as he played with her clit, rubbing slow and then faster.  
  
"You like that?" Sören husked between kisses.  
  
"God, yes..."  
  
He kissed her again, fingers working her until she was right on that edge. He began kissing and licking her neck, fingers speeding up on her clit, the sound of his hand moving in the bubbles deliciously obscene. She felt herself tensing, that point of no return, and let out a whimper. "Sören..."  
  
"Come for me,  _elskan._ " He kissed her hard.  
  
She lost control, climaxing, jolting underneath his fingers. He groaned as he felt her contracting, groaned again as she shuddered against him, gasping for breath as she clenched with each pulse. " _Fuck..._ "  
  
They kissed, and the look of heat on Sören's face when they pulled apart made her crave more, but not here. "We're getting prune skin," she said, showing her wrinkled fingers.  
  
They reluctantly climbed out of the tub and Sören drained it while Claire toweled off. Sören turned off the stereo, snuffed the candles, and led her into the bedroom. He lit candles there too, and as she climbed onto the bed she noticed he had a bottle of vanilla-flavored massage oil. It was something she hadn't seen before, or at least not since before the accident, and this was a new bottle.  
  
As he brought in the stereo from the bathroom, Sören noticed her noticing. "I picked it up while I was out."  
  
"You were planning this?"  
  
"The bubble bath was spontaneous, but I planned the massage part while you were out." Sören smiled.  
  
"God, Sören, you spoil me."  
  
He got on the bed beside her. "You deserve to be spoiled."  
  
Sade was on now. It was perfect... Sade, candlelight, Sören rubbing her down with massage oil. Claire's toes and fingers curled and flexed like a contented cat, as she sighed into the pillow. Relaxation gave way to arousal, especially when Sören's fingers started to caress as much as they kneaded, and he kissed and licked between strokes. When she was rolled from her stomach onto his back, the look of lust on his face as he worked on her aroused her even more. He licked and suckled her nipples, kissed and licked and nibbled her stomach, her thighs, fingers brushing over her, fire in his touch, fire in his dark eyes.  
  
"I love worshiping you like this." Their eyes met.  
  
"I love you." Claire stroked his cheek.  
  
"I know." With that, he lowered his head between her legs and took his first lick.  
  
He feasted on her to climax after climax, lapping her clit, full lips wrapped around her clit as he kissed it, sucked it. His fingers rubbed her clit with his tongue inside her, his fingers worked in and out of her as his tongue danced on her clit again, knowing what pleased her. He sipped and slurped her juices, murmuring his pleasure at the taste of her. The look of satisfaction on his face when she came just intensified her release, loving how much he enjoyed giving her orgasms.  
  
He needed at least one himself, and he finally rose up to kiss her. She moaned at the taste of herself on him, and he kissed her more slowly, sensually, with their tongues taking playful licks between kisses.  
  
"I taste good," Claire said, moaning as Sören's thumb stroked a nipple, again when he lowered his head to lap it.  
  
"You do." Then he looked up with a wicked grin on his face, before lapping her nipple some more.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing." He kept lapping.  
  
She gave him a little whack on the shoulder. "It's not nothing, you. Out with it."  
  
"Oh, just." Sören stopped licking for a moment, with a mischievous little smile. "You keep saying you'd think it's hot if I got a boyfriend... well... turnabout is fair play." His eyes narrowed. "I'd like to see you with another girl."  
  
" _Really._ "  
  
Claire remembered telling Sören about a few nights she'd had at uni, where she and some friends had gone to bars and she'd kissed girls, because that was "the thing to do" back in those days, and she liked it but didn't otherwise think much about it, she hadn't had some sort of soul-searching conflict about identity and labels the way Sören did over her, because the thought of being with a woman sexually hadn't really crossed her mind. But now that Sören had brought it up, and she was tasting herself on him, watching him lick one of her nipples, the thought crossed her mind of what it would be like for another woman to kiss her with the taste of her on her lips... what it would be like to taste another woman... have another woman do to her breast what Sören was doing now, maybe even lick another woman's nipples...  
  
"Oh god." Claire's breath hitched, feeling herself throb at that.  
  
"Mmmm." Sören grinned and gave her nipple a playful tug between her teeth. "Would be  _so_  hot."  
  
"Would depend on the girl, just like you said it would depend on the guy."  
  
"True." Sören nodded. "But a man can dream."  
  
She couldn't believe she was even entertaining the idea, but then again some years ago she wouldn't have even entertained the idea of having a bisexual boyfriend and wanting to see him make love to another man, either. He came up to kiss her again, fingers reaching between her legs, brushing over her clit, and Claire arched to him, parting her thighs, feeling wanton, needy. Sade's smooth voice just seemed to make the moment even more passionate:  
  
_You're ruling the way that I move  
And I breathe your air  
You only can rescue me  
This is my prayer  
  
I cherish the day  
I won't go astray  
I won't be afraid  
You won't catch me running_  
  
He was inside her, and even though he needed a release, she knew, he took it slow. All sense of time seemed to stop as he melted into her again and again, slowly, sensually bringing them to that edge in a dreamy haze of sensation and loving connectedness. One hand played with her clit and the other roamed over her body, stroked her hair, her face, and they kissed in time with his slow thrusts... when he wasn't licking and suckling her nipples, licking and nibbling her neck, whispering to her in Icelandic between kisses.  
  
At last, she took his hands, urgent, and kissed him hard. She flung her arms around him and with one of her legs on his shoulder he drove into her, panting, shaking as he held himself back, wanting her to come first. His fingers rubbed her clit in rhythm with his thrusts, and when she was whimpering, about to let go, both of her hands on his hand, he kissed her deep and hungry. His other hand, the one that had been playing with her nipples, dipped to reach around their fingers and when it was slick, he put his index and middle fingers in her mouth. She sucked them, hips bucking as she tasted herself, ache sharpening as he rubbed his tongue against hers, sharing the subtle taste of her. She felt like she was going to explode, shatter, with how desperate she was to come, and she heard herself cry out "Sören, please,  _now_..."  
  
He growled as he took her lower lip between his teeth, and she screamed as she clenched around him, a powerful, full-body climax. Three thrusts later, he spent into her, and her continued pulsing milked him through his orgasm, groaning deeply as she sighed and cooed, floating in bliss.  
  
"Oh,  _elskan._ " Sören laughed a little - now it was his turn for his fingers and toes to curl, rubbing his nose in her hair as he shivered with an aftershock.  
  
"Mmmmmmm." She pulled him close and kissed his forehead. "That was wonderful." She took his chin in her hand. " _You_  were wonderful."  
  
"So are you." He kissed the tip of her nose. "God, this will never get old."  
  
"I could spend a lifetime doing this with you."  
  
Their eyes met. "So could I."  
  
The words hung there as they lay there. Claire wondered about it briefly until the deep relaxation of so many orgasms - and especially that last shattering one - set her adrift into sleep in Sören's arms.


	6. Because the Night Belongs To Us

**Because the Night Belongs To Us**

 

Sören was sitting in the studio, staring at the seascape painting he'd been working on - what an outside observer would think of as a finished product, but still didn't feel done to him, still needed something more - when he got the call.  
  
"Hello."  
  
"Mr. Sigurdsson, good morning. This is Gavin Abercrombie of Crown Jewels over in Dundee -"  
  
"Jæja, I remember you. Call me Sören -"  
  
"Right, I keep forgetting. But I've not forgotten your ring. It's done and ready for pickup."  
  
"It's ready... now?"  
  
"It's ready now. Right now."  
  
"OK." He got up quickly, not thinking, and tripped on the stool, taking a little spill as the stool knocked over. "Shit." Sören facepalmed, self-conscious for once about his language. "Sorry -"  
  
The jeweler chuckled. "It's all right, laddie, we swear quite a lot up here, you'll find."  
  
Sören chuckled too. "I'll be over in a bit, driving in from St. Andrews."  
  
"Take your time, it'll be here."  
  
Claire was baking downstairs. Sören wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a big wet kiss on the cheek. She turned her head to give him a more proper kiss and Sören groaned with frustration. Then she shoved a bit of raw cookie dough in his mouth, and sucking on her finger just made it even worse.  
  
"I gotta run," Sören told her.  
  
"Oh? Where are you off to?" Claire asked.  
  
"I'm gonna... go for a little drive, see if I can get my mind where it needs to be to work on that painting." That wasn't entirely the truth, nor was it exactly a lie, the drive to Dundee might help him focus. "I'll pick up groceries for dinner on the way back, if there's anything you have in mind?"  
  
"I think I'm in the mood for chicken."  
  
"OK, chicken it is." Sören nodded.  
  
Just before he could leave the kitchen, Claire said, "What, no 'hi in the mood for chicken'? You must be really preoccupied."  
  
Sören attempted a wink, and failed - he couldn't wink to save his life - and Claire blew him a kiss, which he caught just before he headed out.  
  
He listened to music in his Vauxhall on the way to Dundee, a radio station had an hour of only playing Scottish artists. He found himself singing along.  
  
 _In a big country, dreams stay with you  
Like a lover's voice fires the mountainside  
Stay alive  
  
So take that look out of here, it doesn't fit you  
Because it's happened doesn't mean you've been discarded  
Pull up your head off the floor, come up screaming  
Cry out for everything you ever might have wanted  
I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered  
But you can't stay here with every single hope you had shattered_  
  
The jeweler was sitting in the front of the shop when he arrived, and though Sören was just as dressed down as he'd been the day he came in and ordered the ring - jeans, Led Zeppelin T-shirt, the ever-present Doc Martens boots - the man seemed less judgmental this time, perhaps because money talks.  
  
"All right," Gavin Abercrombie said, leading him behind the counter. "If you don't like it, I can make changes for a fee..."  
  
"Let's see it first," Sören said.  
  
It was just as Sören had envisioned the ring to be. "That's amazing work," he said.  
  
"Thank you, laddie." The jeweler put it in a ring box, and then got out a gift box.  
  
"There's no need for the gift box," Sören said. "Just the ring box will do." Sören reached for his wallet - although he'd already paid in full for the ring, and extra for getting it done quickly, he wanted to give a tip for a job well done.  
  
"That's very generous of you." The jeweler grinned.  
  
Sören patted his arm. "You did a great job."  
  
"Well, any time you want to come back for more, I'll give you a ten percent loyalty discount..."  
  
Sören didn't see himself as getting into the habit of buying jewelry regularly, as Claire didn't wear a lot of it, but he politely said, " _Takk._ "  
  
"You have a nice day now," the man said as he left the shop.  
  
Sören got back on the road, the green Scottish countryside whizzing by.  
  
 _When I wake up, well, I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next to you  
When I go out, yeah, I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you  
If I get drunk, well, I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you  
And if I haver, hey, I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who's havering to you  
  
But I would walk five hundred miles  
And I would walk five hundred more  
Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles  
To fall down at your door  
_  
  
Sören pulled the car over and took out the ring, to get a better look at it in natural daylight. The golden flash labradorite, honey amber, and champagne diamonds played together perfectly in the white gold setting, like sunlight through storm clouds. It was breathtaking - Claire was breathtaking, and Sören would want nothing less for her.  
  
"I'm doing this. Oh god, I'm really doing this." Sören took a few deep breaths.  
  
He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and without thinking about it, dialed his cousin Ari's number. He knew Ari was at work in Reykjavik but could get away with taking a break for five minutes...  
  
"Sören!  _Hvað er að frétta?_ "  
  
"Ari." Sören laughed nervously. "You got a few minutes?"  
  
"Not really, but I'll make the time. Are you OK? Is everything all right?"  
  
"Jæja. I..." Sören took a few deep breaths. "Ari. I'm going to ask Claire to marry me."  
  
"When? Now?"  
  
"Tonight, probably, but... jæja, I'm doing this. I'm actually doing this..."  
  
"You've got a proper ring, right?"  
  
"What the hell kind of bloody question is that? Of course I have a fucking ring."  
  
"Just asking. So you're going to do the get down on one knee thing... though I don't recommend you drop it in a champagne glass, that might be an accident waiting to happen..."  
  
"So you think I should have champagne..."  
  
"This is why I asked you if you even had a ring, Sören."  
  
"Shit, I should go buy some at the store."  
  
"Oh no. You... do you even have dinner reservations anywhere? You ought to propose at a fancy dinner..."  
  
"Oh my fucking  _god_ , Claire was going to cook tonight. That's... that's probably not a good plan, is it?"  
  
"Again, this is why I asked if you even had a ring."  
  
"OK, shut it, we got that." Sören let out a low whistle. "It's a good thing I called, though. I don't want her to think I'm cheap or hopelessly inept and say no..."  
  
"So what are you doing still on the phone with me? Go make that dinner reservation, and tell me tomorrow how it goes, all right?" Then Ari hung up before Sören could argue with him about it.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören took Claire to The Grange - she wore a gauzy celadon dress, with a shawl in a deeper jade. Sören wore a blue-and-grey tie with dark grey trousers and a pale blue button-down shirt; Claire rarely ever saw him dressed so formally, though he was still wearing his Doc Martens, as he did with everything, everywhere. She gave him suspicious looks as they drove to the restaurant.  
  
Claire had the pan seared hake served with tomato confit, spinach, asparagus, and shellfish bisque, and Sören had barbecue duck breast with burnt raspberries, hazelnuts, and pickled kohlrabi. They ordered glasses of Botter Prosecco Spumante, and Sören kept looking into the bubbly champagne, wondering how or why people even proposed with a ring in the glass.  
  
Throughout dinner Sören reached under the table to touch the ring box in his pocket, both as an assurance it was still there, and to try to motivate himself to pop the question. But they were hardly alone in the restaurant, and Sören was getting increasingly nervous about proposing in front of a full house of other people, making a scene, and getting all emotional. It was something he could handle better in front of a few strangers, but not a restaurant full.  
  
And so it was that when they left the restaurant and got in the car, Sören still hadn't popped the question. He wanted to kick himself, already feeling like crying, ashamed that he hadn't yet. He could hear his uncle Einar's voice in his head berating him,  _What kind of man are you?_  
  
Tonight, the answer to that was,  _A man who loves his woman, and wants to do right by her._  
  
Proposing in a restaurant wasn't just making a scene in front of a lot of strangers, it didn't feel romantic enough. The expensive and delicious dinner  _had_  been romantic - Sören liked to see Claire eat, especially after that time in London when she wasn't except when he nagged her - but Claire deserved something else. Just like a traditional white diamond engagement ring seemed too ordinary for her.  
  
"I feel like I need some air after all that food," Sören said to Claire. "You agree? You want to go for a walk?"  
  
"Can we go to the Harbour? Take a walk on the beach, see the sunset?" Claire asked.  
  
"That sounds perfect."  
  
The sky was on fire tonight, a blaze of red, orange, pink and gold that reflected into the sea. Hand in hand, Sören and Claire walked along the shore, watching the tide roll in; the salt breeze felt good after the heat of the restaurant and the fullness of the meal. Sören admired the way Claire's hair looked in the sunset, the way it stirred on the wind, and when she caught him looking at her she stopped, grinning, and took both his hands in hers. They paused in their tracks then - the guitarist was just a couple meters away and he was playing. Claire leaned on Sören and they listened to him, with Sören petting Claire's hair, kissing the top of her head, rubbing his nose in her hair and breathing in the sweet scent of her.  
  
His eyes met the guitarist's, and the man smiled at him -  _god, he's gorgeous_ , Sören thought to himself, a flutter in his stomach. The music paused, and the guitarist looked at him, long dark hair streaming in the breeze, as if to say,  _Go on, then._  
  
"Claire," Sören husked.  
  
"Hm?"  
  
He let go of her hands, and he pulled her into a deep, hungry kiss. The guitarist began to play, singing softly along with the chords.  
  
 _Take me now, baby, here as I am  
Pull me close, try and understand  
Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe  
Love is a banquet on which we feed_  
  
Claire's hands roamed over Sören's chest and then a hand was stroking his face, in his hair, as she looked up at him and he looked into her eyes, his lips parting as his breath caught like he was seeing her for the first time, seeing his entire world.  
  
He took one hand off her waist and reached into his pocket for the ring box.  
  
 _Come on now try and understand  
The way I feel when I'm in your hands  
Take my hand come undercover_  
  
Sören got on one knee; Claire saw him holding something.  
  
 _They can't hurt you now  
Can't hurt you now, can't hurt you now_  
  
"Claire. Will you marry me?"  
  
"...Yes."  
  
 _Because the night belongs to lovers  
Because the night belongs to lust  
Because the night belongs to lovers  
Because the night belongs to us_  
  
Sören slipped the ring onto Claire's waiting finger and then she pulled him up and he twirled her around before kissing her hard. They were both crying a little now, and they continued kissing and petting each other, rocking together through the rest of the song.  
  
When it was over, the guitarist called to them. "Congratulations, you two."  
  
Sören grinned and so did Claire. " _Takk_ ," Sören replied.  
  
"Thank you," Claire told him. "That was... incredible... by the way. You've got such a lovely voice."  
  
"You do. You should go on one of those idol shows or something," Sören said.  
  
The guitarist looked down with a little smile, shook his head, and said, "Thank you, but no. Celebrity isn't what it's cracked up to be."  
  
"OK, but it seems a crime for the entire world to not hear that voice." Sören meant it. "And that was brilliant timing with the song." He looked at Claire. "We should play that at our wedding." He looked back at the guitarist. "You should play that at our wedding."  
  
The guitarist laughed. "We'll see. Now get out of here, you crazy kids."  
  
"Who are you calling a kid?" Claire snapped. "You don't look that old yourself..."  
  
Sören couldn't resist the joke. "Well, we are in Scotland. Maybe he's that Highlander guy, secretly immortal..."  
  
The guitarist put up both his hands. "You got me," he joked back.  
  
Claire snorted and elbowed Sören. "Pay my husband-to-be no mind here, he's an idiot."  
  
"Yeah, you love it." Sören kissed the tip of her nose.  
  
"I do. I'd like to show you how much." Claire gave him a naughty look.  
  
"Well then." Sören waved to the guitarist, and Claire also waved, before she put an arm around Sören and marched him to the car.  
  
Claire examined her ring on the way to the car and when they climbed into the car she took another good look at it again.  
  
"You like it?" Sören asked, nervous.  
  
"I  _love_  it. Sören, it's perfect." She threw her arms around him and kissed him hard. "You're perfect."  
  
"I'm not perfect, Claire." Sören frowned, acutely aware of his flaws in the presence of the strong woman he admired so much.  
  
"You're perfect  _to me_ ," she husked, and kissed him more gently, sweetly.  
  
The kiss heated, and soon they were necking in the front seat of the car, just parked there near the beach and not going anywhere. When their hands began to wander and the front seat of the car seemed too confining, Claire opened the car door.  
  
"Where are you going?" Sören asked her.  
  
"Back seat."  
  
Sören laughed as they got in the back seat, and stopped laughing when Claire kissed him again, shoved him down against the cushions, laying on top of him. Sören had lost his virginity at age seventeen in the back seat of a thirty-year-old's car, and it had felt cheap, cheaper still when it became apparent that the man had only been interested in taking his cherry and was bored after the conquest, but there was nothing cheap about being in the back seat with Claire, here and now. They were so caught up in the rush of emotion from the proposal, their joy in each other and the prospect of spending a life together, their  _passion_  for each other, that it was another moment of perfection in spontaneity, as the beach proposal had been.  _Here. Now. You. Me. Hunger. Fire._  Sören's hand slipped up the skirt of Claire's dress, down her panties, rubbing in slow, lazy circles as he kissed and licked her neck, the fingers of his other hand brushing a nipple through her dress.  
  
" _Sören_ ," Claire gasped as his fingers pushed harder on her nub, rubbing faster.  
  
"You are so wet." Sören claimed her mouth. "Mmmmm, can I make you come in the back seat of the car like this?" His voice lowered. "Out in public, where we might get caught?"  
  
"Ohgod." Claire shuddered. "Oh,  _fuck_ , Sören..."  
  
He nibbled her neck, licked it, as his fingers worked faster and harder still, and they could both hear the sound of her wetness in the back seat, between her breathy moans. Her hand rubbed the hard bulge in his trousers, but he wanted her to focus on her own pleasure, and he took her hand away, stuck the fingers in his mouth, sucking them with heat in his eyes that made her shiver and cry out, her thighs clamping down around the hand playing with her. "Mmmm," he murmured with his mouth full of her fingers. He licked them then, licked down to her palm, kissed it. "I want my wife to come for me..."  
  
"Almost there," Claire panted.  
  
He started licking her fingers again, sucking them. He knew the sight of it turned her on, and she was turned on even more when he pushed down the neckline of her dress, pushed down the bra, taking out her breast, his eyes locked with hers as he drew a nipple into his mouth, suckling hard.  
  
"Ohfuck. Oh fuck, Sören... oh fuck ohfuck  _ohfuck_..."  
  
"Mmmmmm." He licked her nipple. "Gonna come for me,  _elskan_? Gonna scream for me out here in public?"  
  
" _Sören!_ " And there it was, the contractions against his fingers, juices gushing over the hand playing with her. She let out a wordless howl, continuing to pulse against his fingers. He slowed the rubbing, a few last gentle strokes, and gave a final tug at her nipple with his lips before he brought his soaked fingers to his mouth to taste her, and then to her mouth so she could taste herself as well. He kissed her deeply.  
  
"So sweet," he breathed between kisses. "Just like you..."  
  
"Mmmmmm..." She drew his lower lip between her lips, sucked on it, and he gave a little growl.  
  
"I need more."  
  
And like that, they were sixty-nining in the back seat of the car. Sören reached to spread her folds and his tongue went wild, lapping her clit, slipping into her and fucking fast then slowly, teasingly. Then there were more slow licks at and around her clit, before sucking it, with Claire moaning around his cock, sucking it harder and faster as he slowed down, as if to urge him on faster with his tongue. Soon she was licking his cock too, every now and again gently tugging the PA piercing in the head of his cock with her teeth, and he felt her hook a possessive finger through the ring, curled around it, as she gave a few more licks, teasing the frenulum with her thumb. At last he relented, devouring her, kissing her clit hard, his tongue brushing faster and faster, suckling it, slurping loudly at her juices, groaning into her as she sucked him slowly, rubbing her tongue as she sucked. When his fingers were inside her as he sucked on her clit, Claire let his cock drop out of her mouth and just bucked against his hand, fucking his fingers, his face, which Sören loved, shaking his head as his full lips worked their magic on her clit. A few minutes of that, three fingers thrusting in and out of her, his mouth suckling her clit, and Claire let out a howl loud enough that Sören worried someone would in fact call the police, though his worries dissolved as she gushed on his face and he watched her beautiful pink flower contracting again, dripping sweet nectar that he feverishly chased with his tongue, wanting all of it that he could get.  
  
She buried her face in his thigh, panting to catch her breath until her body stopped heaving, and then she gave a deep, contented sigh. "Sören," she murmured.  
  
He gently patted her ass, chuckling. "Claire... we kind of can't stay here like this."  
  
Claire picked her head up, realizing they were parked at the Harbour in the Vauxhall, laying in the back seat with their genitals exposed. "Oh shit, you're right."  
  
Sören gave a full-bodied laugh. He was still hard - he hadn't come - but Claire had been loud enough that he felt time was of the essence with getting out of here, and his trousers were going to be really uncomfortable, so he grabbed Claire's shawl and draped it over his waist to return to the front seat. Once Claire's knickers were adjusted and she was in the front seat, Sören started the car and began to pull out.  
  
Claire looked at the shawl on Sören's lap, very obviously tented, and burst into hysterics looking back up at him, driving deadpan. Then Sören laughed too, doubling over at the wheel, tearing up.  
  
"It's worse because it doesn't match your outfit," Claire told him, "like, at all."  
  
"Oh my gawwwwwd," Sören said, in the best stereotypically "gay voice" he could muster, "girrrrl, you can't tell anyone that or I'm gonna get my Gay Card taken away." His mouth opened and he put his hand to his mouth, and Claire shook with laughter, snorting.  
  
"Goddammit, Sören, I'm gonna break something from laughing so hard -"  
  
"Hi gonna break something from laughing so hard -"  
  
"SÖREN SIGURDSSON, I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD."  
  
Sören's face lit up with a mischievous grin now. "There's... a fucking god? Can I worship him?" He waggled his eyebrows. "With my tongue?"  
  
Claire lost it again, tearing up, and she lost it even more looking back down at the shawl on Sören's lap, still tented. "Sören. Your..."  
  
Sören nodded, also tearing up with laughter. "I wanted this evening to be just right. The fancy dinner, the champagne, the romantic proposal... and we end up snogging in the back seat and going at it like we're horny teenagers."  
  
Claire sobered just a little, her eyes tender, her voice soft, as she stroked Sören's face. "I hope we'll still be like this for each other when we're old."  
  
"I hope so too." Sören took Claire's hand and kissed the fingertips. "Then I can make MILF jokes."  
  
"Goddammit, Sören..."  
  
When they pulled into their usual parking space on their street, Sören still wore the shawl over his hard cock on the way to the door, with Claire giggling all the way. As soon as they were inside, he slammed her against the wall, kissing her hard.  
  
"Sören." Claire's pupils were blown wide, a hungry look on her face. There was one more thing they hadn't done since the accident...  
  
Sören kicked off his boots and let his trousers and boxer-briefs fall to the floor as Claire slid her knickers off. Then he lifted her up, with her back against the wall, and she pulled up her dress before holding onto him. She was drenched, and he sank into her easily.  
  
With the wall to support her, he rocked into her and she bucked back at him, legs around his waist, hands on his shoulders. "God, I love you," Sören moaned between kisses.  
  
"I love you." Claire shivered. "Fuck, you feel so good like this..."  
  
"I love that I can take you against the wall again." He nibbled her lower lip before kissing her hard. "That I can fuck you just like this." He kissed her deep. "Mine."  
  
"Oh god, Sören..." Her nails dug into him through his shirt. "Take me... take what's yours..."  
  
"Mine. My Claire." Their eyes met. "My love." He kissed her again.  
  
She moaned, and he started to thrust faster, harder. He was close, and he badly needed to come, but he wanted her to come again too.  _Needed_  her to come like this, taking back what was stolen from them, taking back what was  _theirs_ , hers... "I belong to you too," Sören whispered.  
  
"Yes." Claire kissed him. "Always."  
  
One last kiss and he felt her start clenching around him, grasping and squeezing him again and again, heat and a flood of wetness, with Claire whimpering into the kiss, body spasming against his. She let out a wild cry as the kiss let go, and Sören answered with a deep grunt of his own, spending into her, thrusting once, twice, three times as he soared and his soul crashed into hers, and they crashed into the clouds, ripping them asunder with fiery light.  
  
"Oh my god." Claire was shaking against him, even her breath was shaking. Their hearts were racing in the same rhythm.  
  
He gently led her to the couch and they curled up together, petting, melting.  
  
Sören dozed off a little, and was roused back to consciousness by Claire sitting up with a start. "Oh god, I have to tell Mum and Dad..."  
  
"Later."  
  
"You're right. I can call them tomorrow..."  
  
"No I mean like, later later." Sören sighed, thinking of how Darrell liked to fuss. "I think we ought to plan a date first,  _then_  tell your parents 'this is the time and place.'"  
  
"Hmm, you're right." Claire made a face, also knowing how her mother was - she meant well. That was the problem. She looked at Sören. "How soon do you want to do this..."  
  
"Well, I'd like it to be soon, honestly. We've been together for years - it'll be four years this New Year's - and I don't see how a long engagement won't show us anything about each other we don't already know, you know? Besides, the longer we wait, the more time your mother will have to  _plan_. So we want to give everyone just enough notice to come out to do the thing, but not so much notice that our plans get overrun by your mother's plans."  
  
"Good thinking." Claire nodded. She spent a few moments considering - Sören could see her thinking hard, scrunching her nose a little when she did -  _god, that's so fucking sexy when she does that_ , he thought to himself, starting to get just a tiny bit worked up again - and then her eyes opened wide. "November, sometime? That's two months away, a fall wedding sounds romantic, and our honeymoon will be during your birthday."  
  
"OK." Sören's eyebrows shot up. "Oh god, we're gonna do a proper honeymoon...?"  
  
" _Yes_ , and I'd like to spoil you for your birthday by taking you somewhere, besides. So you can be thinking about that. In the meantime..." She kissed him. "I'd like you to think about something else. Like what every night is going to be like, from now on." She kissed him harder, and he moaned into the kiss, moaning again when she took his cock in her hand, stroking it back to life.


	7. Opening the Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, that's a wrap! But only for this particular installment of the Homeward Bound 'verse. The saga continues with [_We All Fall In Love Sometimes_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19950886/chapters/47241895), so if you've been reading and enjoying I now direct your attention there to the next part of the story. :D

**Opening the Door**

 

The next couple of days following the proposal seemed to fly in a whirlwind. Sören told his cousin Ari how it went, and then proceeded to tell the rest of his family - his twin brother Dagnýr, his older sister Margrét, and his cousin Alinta who lived in Australia, all of whom confirmed they'd be at a November wedding if Sören got the date to them soon. After having dinner with Gitta and Jane, wherein Claire showed off the ring, Gitta and Jane made some suggestions for venue and also plugged in some numbers to free astrological charts online for auspicious days - not that Sören and Claire were necessarily believers in astrology or inclined to superstition, but it pleased Gitta and Jane to do so and they didn't see any harm in it.  
  
Once they were back home from Gitta and Jane's, Sören and Claire talked it over some more and decided on the Holy Trinity Presbyterian Church, where neither of them had to be of the religion to get married, and was of interest due to being from the 12th century with stained glass windows and carvings. They set the date for Sunday, November 22nd, at 4:20 PM, which Gitta and Jane said would be auspicious due to a Sagittarius Sun (Sören's Sun sign), Gemini rising which put the Sun in the seventh house of marriage, and the Moon in Aquarius, a sign of freedom and unconventionality which they thought was a good fit for a relationship that flaunted conventionality in many ways, where both partners were free to be their eccentric selves.  
  
With the date and time set, Claire called her cousin Harrison. She had been planning on waiting just a little longer for it to sink in before telling her mother Darrell and her father Rupert, but as soon as Harrison blurted it out to his inquiring mother, Claire knew she had to bite the bullet.  
  
It wasn't that her parents disapproved of Sören or even the idea of them getting married - though there had been concerns expressed about Sören's bisexuality in the first few months of their relationship, which Claire had found vaguely offensive and Sören much moreso, and Claire was aware of a sense of disappointment on her parents' behalf that she was "settling down", that her career as a barrister was indeed well and truly done. It was that Darrell had some very strong ideas about what a "proper" wedding looked like, and those ideas ran anathema to what Claire and Sören wanted out of their wedding, which was a much more simple, quiet ceremony. Claire didn't want a dress she'd have to lose weight for, with a huge train carried by bridesmaids decked out in pastel garish outfits that were a fashion disaster anywhere outside of a wedding. Sören would not now, or ever, put on a tuxedo, though Jane was trying to talk him into wearing a dress kilt. Claire didn't want a bridal shower with asparagus cookers and whatever other nonsense that friends of her mother who she didn't even know would insist on throwing at her, setting up the chain of Claire having to constantly leave St. Andrews and go to  _their_  social events because she "owed" them for gifts she didn't even want. All of that sounded like a nightmare rather than an event that Claire and Sören wanted to cherish. As importantly, Claire and Sören wanted this to be  _theirs_. Claire needed independence - perhaps now moreso than ever, after her accident.  
  
Claire's relationship with her mother wasn't exactly dysfunctional, particularly when contrasted with Sören's relationship with what had been his guardians, but Darrell could be  _trying_ , and the passive-aggressiveness during the conversation got to be a bit much. Sören had been pretending to not hover and eavesdrop, but he wasn't doing a very good job of it, and he was right there when Claire finally ended the call and said, with a sigh, "I need a fucking drink."  
  
  
_  
  
  
It was open mic night at the Whey Pat, and Claire and Sören had walked over instead of driving, which meant they could drink a bit more than usual, and it was the case that if there was karaoke or open mic and Sören had enough to drink, he would get up and sing.  
  
Sören was even more of an idiot under the influence, singing "Wild Thing" in earnest to Claire, who giggled hysterically. Then when the song was over, someone clapped particularly loudly, enough for Sören and Claire to look in their direction.  
  
It was the guitarist.  
  
Who then got up, took the mic, and played a few songs by request. Just a few, and for his last one he specifically looked at Sören and Claire, who then looked at each other.  
  
"Free Bird," Sören yelled, to be a troll, and Claire kicked him under the table as the guitarist gave him a filthy look.  
  
"Can you play 'Because the Night'?" Claire asked. "Like you did a few days ago."  
  
He did, and it was just as lovely as before, the needed reminder that  _yes we are doing this_ , and no amount of parental whining or societal disapproval would change that. At the end of the song Sören and Claire stole a kiss, and as the guitarist walked away from the mic, Sören waved him over to their table. "Come on, sit with us," Sören said.  
  
He awkwardly slid in.  
  
"You really should go on one of those idol shows," Sören told him.  
  
"No."  
  
"OK but, I was serious about you performing at our wedding," Sören said, folding his arms, "and I won't take no for an answer. Name your price..."  
  
"You don't need to pay me." His voice was deep, soft, musical even when not singing.  
  
Claire was finally noticing how tall he was - Sören was a good six feet and it looked like the gentleman had close to a foot on him. He was dressed fairly inconspicuously, a black T-shirt and faded jeans, carrying a leather jacket with him. His dark hair hung loose to the middle of his back, with some cascading over his shoulders, covering his ears. He had light grey eyes, long-lashed, that were tonight behind wire-rimmed glasses - the glasses seemed to only enhance his good looks, rather than detract from them. His chiseled face was proud, even a bit haughty, but there was something deeply melancholy about him, and not just because he was obviously here in a bar and had been drinking alone; Claire kept staring at the badly burned right hand, trying not to stare, trying not to notice.  
  
"We'd like to give you  _something_ ," Sören insisted. "Your music really made the proposal the other night... even more memorable." Claire nodded vehemently in agreement.  
  
"And just now," Claire said, "I've had kind of a rough day and that song made me feel better, so thank you." She reached out without thinking about it and put her hands on his arm. The guitarist seemed a little taken aback at being touched but did not recoil.  
  
"Right now, we can repay you for that song by buying you a drink," Sören said.  
  
"Well, I've had enough tonight," the man said.  
  
"Have you paid for what you've had yet?"  
  
"I have a tab..."  
  
Sören went up and paid the part of the tab that was tonight's round of drinks, and sat back down.  
  
"That really wasn't necessary. I sing for the love of it..."  
  
"Consider it a tip," Sören said. "But that's just for the song right now. We still owe you for the song the other night, and we should talk about you coming to the wedding..."  
  
"Dinner," Claire blurted out, on impulse. "Have dinner with us."  
  
The guitarist seemed uncomfortable by that. "I... don't want you to spend money on me somewhere fancy..."  
  
"We can afford it," Sören said.  
  
"It's not just that. It's the atmosphere..."  
  
"Then have dinner at our house," Claire said, and Sören nodded.  
  
The guitarist gave an incredulous laugh. "You don't know me. You're inviting a total stranger into your home. I could be a serial killer..."  
  
"Serial killers don't sing the way you sang just now," Claire said. "There was real soul there. I felt it. We both did."  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
"And we don't have to be strangers." Claire decided it was time to introduce herself. "I'm Claire James and this is my fiance, Sören Sigurdsson..."  
  
"Mark Lowry." He shook their hands. "And you're new to St. Andrews."  
  
"We moved here in August, yes." Claire nodded. "You're from England?" She tried to place the accent... "Manchester?"  
  
"Yes, but I've lived here awhile, enough to know you're new here."  
  
"My aunts own the bed-and-breakfast on the other end of town," Sören explained, "and we'd visited them a few times which was how we decided to come up here..."  
  
"Oh, you're Gitta's nephew?" Mark perked up a little at that.  
  
"You know her?"  
  
"I stayed there when I was new in town. Your aunts are nice ladies."  
  
"They are."  
  
"I run into Gitta every now and again. I'm surprised she still remembers me, but I suppose she's one of those who never forgets a face."  
  
"And you're pretty distinctive," Sören said.  
  
Mark looked a little shy at that.  
  
"But now we're not strangers," Claire chimed back in. "We know your name, and we know you know Sören's aunt. See? Now you have no excuse to not let us feed you."  
  
Mark's lips quirked with amusement. "You're going to nag me about this every time you run into me until I relent, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then I accept."  
  
"What days are good for you?"  
  
"Any evening is fine, so long as it's in the evening. That's when my shop closes -"  
  
"You run a shop around here?" Sören gave him a curious look.  
  
Mark seemed to almost regret letting that detail slip, suddenly shy again. "Yes. I own The Wax Museum, a vinyl records store."  
  
"Oh, you're into vinyl?"  
  
"I'm what you would call a vinyl snob."  
  
"So's my sister. You're probably going to try to convert me, aren't you?"  
  
Mark gave a small, cryptic smile into his beer. "Probably."  
  
  
  
_  
  
  
They had an arrangement for that Tuesday, at seven o'clock. Claire and Sören had tried to gauge food preferences beforehand and Mark had simply said, "Surprise me."  
  
It was turning out to be a grey and drizzly day, so Claire had decided on something more hearty - something warm and that felt like home; she got the sense Mark lived alone - and so she had a lamb stew going in the slow cooker, one of Gitta and Jane's recipes. She was also baking bread. She'd recently gotten a bread machine so she could make bread more often, and the smell wafted through the house enough to keep drawing Sören out of the studio, until finally he just lingered downstairs, sniffing the air like it was a drug.  
  
"If someone could bottle this scent they'd make a fucking mint," Sören said.  
  
Claire couldn't resist teasing him. "I'd wear it, and then you'd be all over me."  
  
"News flash: I already am all over you." With that, Sören pulled Claire into a hungry kiss, and then she giggled, giving him a playful swat.  
  
"He'll be here in less than an hour -"  
  
"That's enough time," Sören said, and leaned in to kiss her again.  
  
She didn't resist. She kissed him back just as feverishly; he was already hard, and Claire palmed the bulge in his jeans, her other hand roaming over his chest, idly rubbing a nipple through his Nine Inch Nails T-shirt. He crushed her against him, kissing harder, and she moaned into the kiss, her body instinctively thrusting her hips against his, feeling his hardness against her. She felt herself rubbing against him, like she was in heat for it.  
  
"Yes?" Sören raised an eyebrow.  
  
" _Fuck_ , yes."  
  
Sören pushed her up against the wall, and Claire wondered if he was going to take her against the wall again like he'd done the night of the proposal - a frisson went down her spine,  _god_  she had loved that - but instead, he dropped to his knees, hiked up her skirt, and she looked down to watch him take the waistband of her knickers between his teeth and tug it down, heat in his eyes. As her mound was exposed, he gently nuzzled her bush before continuing to pull her knickers off with his teeth until they were at her knees, then he just used his hand to bring it the rest of the way down and she stepped out of them.  
  
His head was between her legs then, and she leaned against the wall, grabbing his curls for dear life as he ate her like he'd been starving for it, making slurping noises as he sipped her juices, sucked her clit, moaning into her as his tongue rubbed her with wild strokes. Claire could hear herself crying out loudly enough she wondered if the neighbors could hear, and decided she didn't care, it felt too good. Sören's head shook back and forth as he devoured her, tongue rubbing and rubbing until that moment when she was at the point of no return, and when those full lips wrapped around her clit, suckling, she threw her head back and cried his name, knees buckling as her climax overtook her. She almost slid down the wall and Sören's hands steadied her, chuckling softly as he gave her a few last teasing licks, groaning at the way she kept contracting underneath his tongue.  
  
"You're so hot,  _elskan_ ," Sören said, and took one last slow lick at her before licking his lips, savoring her. "So fucking hot."  
  
"God, Sören."  
  
He came up to kiss her, and that got her going again, and even more as his hand cupped a breast, fingers stroked a hard nipple through her blouse. Then he took her hands and he was pulling her along, her arms wrapped around his waist as she kissed him again and again, willing to go anywhere so long as he made her come again. They didn't go far, just a couple meters to the table, and once Claire felt it against the small of her back and saw the look in Sören's eyes, she peeled off her blouse, unhooked her bra, and let her skirt drop to the floor, before she climbed onto the table.  
  
Sören looked at her like she was dinner and dessert as he fumbled with his belt, took down his jeans and then his boxer-briefs. His cock looked delicious, flushed and thickly swollen, slick with precum, and Claire lay back on the table, spreading herself to him, taking that cock in her hand and guiding it to her,  _wanting_  it. Sören plunged in and buried himself to the hilt, letting out a shuddery gasp as the silken heat of her wrapped around him, and she in turn cried out at the fullness of him, that feeling of  _rightness_  she always felt with him inside her. _This is mine,_  she thought to herself.  _One flesh. We belong..._  
  
He started to thrust, taking it easy at first, and then harder, rocking the table. The fingers of one of his hands played with her clit and the other played over her bare skin - her thigh, stomach, breasts, whatever he could reach. "God, I want you, Claire," Sören rasped. "I don't give a  _fuck_  if he's gonna be here any minute. I want you  _now_. Right fucking  _now_..."  
  
Those words just inflamed her more and she was matching his rhythm, bucking her hips back at him, fucking herself on his cock, taking him just as much as he was taking her. Soon her legs were on his shoulders and they were pounding away, their cries echoing in the dining area, the slap of their flesh and the wet suctioning sound of their fuck gloriously obscene.   
  
"Oh god, Sören, fuck me," Claire moaned, digging her nails into his hips. "Fuck me hard..."  
  
"You feel so good,  _elskan_. So hot and wet and you  _look_  so fucking hot like this, letting me take you on the table..."  
  
It was wanton and shameless and uninhibited and she  _needed_  it. She needed to be able to let go, to surrender to passion like this, after being so stifled, so  _chained_  in London, a life she thought she wanted until she was trapped in it, working long hours, constantly tired and as much of it from physical exhaustion of barely eating, as it was from the emotional exhaustion of her cases, her co-workers... She felt alive now. She felt free. She had no idea where she was going or what she was doing with her life beyond the marriage in two months and that would have frightened her once upon a time, but now she felt exhilarated. She was living in the moment, living for the now, each moment precious after coming so close to death.  
  
The spontaneity of their fuck was as delicious as the sensations, as delicious as watching Sören plow into her, utterly consumed by the fire he felt for her. The beaded ring in the head of his cock was working wild magic rubbing her G-spot, and his fingers knew just how to please her clit. She was right there, and as badly as she needed to climax she wanted to keep feeling the way he was rubbing her inside and out, the way he was pleasing her, loving her, as she loved him right back...  
  
"Ohgod." She was starting to lose it. "Ohgod... Sören..." She let out a whimper, shuddering.  
  
"That's it,  _ástin mín._  Come for me..."  
  
" _Sören!_ " There it was again, the contractions, harder and deeper this time. She could feel her juices gushing, and her fingers and toes curled involuntarily.  
  
A few thrusts and Sören spent into her with a triumphant shout. She felt him shivering, and she smiled with her own sense of victory as she felt him having to lean against the table to not fall over, panting as he was undone, continuing to shoot in her.  
  
She lay there dazed for a moment, continuing to crest on her pleasure, and then he pulled out, and helped her sit up. They kissed, and when they pulled apart to nuzzle, Sören quickly glanced down and doubled over with laughter. "Oh shit."  
  
"What?"  
  
"We... made a mess."  
  
On the table, there was a puddle of her wetness, and a pool of his cum, and some of it was dripping onto the floor. Claire looked at the clock - they had ten minutes.  
  
"Jesus Christ, Sören..."  
  
Sören quickly pulled his underwear and jeans back on, Claire got dressed, and then they set to work sanitizing the table and wiping up the floor, in hysterics, giggling and snorting the hardest as wipes and paper towels were thrown in the trash. Then Sören's nose twitched, sniffing the air again. "Wow, it smells like sex in here. Sex and bread and lamb stew."  
  
"I hope Mark doesn't notice the sex smell."  
  
"Well, he's an adult, Claire, I think he's aware we do adult activities."  
  
"That doesn't mean he needs to  _smell_  them, for fuck's sake."  
  
Sören leaned on the counter, doubled over again. Claire also had another gigglefit. "Why are we like this?" Sören asked.  
  
"I don't know, but I love you." Claire stole a kiss.  
  
That was when they heard the knock at the door. They cleared their throats in unison and put on their best "serious business" faces - which got them giggling all over again, and Claire swatted him - and then they marched together to the door.  
  
Mark was standing there in the drizzling rain, wearing a leather jacket over the usual T-shirt and jeans; Claire looked down and noticed he had the same exact Doc Martens boots as Sören. He wasn't wearing glasses in the drizzle, but he did have his guitar case slung over one arm, and there was a bottle of wine tucked under the other.  
  
"Good evening," Mark said.  
  
"Hi Mark," Sören said, with the best innocent we-are-up-to-no-shenanigans-no-sir look on his face that he could muster, that made Claire stifle a giggle at the sight of it, and Mark raised an eyebrow as if he knew there had indeed been some kind of shenanigans.  
  
Claire and Sören stepped aside then to let him through. "Come in," Claire told him.  
  
He came out of the rain, and Claire gently shut the door behind him.


End file.
